Convincing the World He Didn't Exist
by cheekymice
Summary: COMPLETE Tony has two faces, one he showed to the world and one he kept strictly to himself. Dark/Mature themes.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Convincing the World He Didn't Exist

**Fandom: NCIS** **Author:** **cheekymice**

**Rating: **R for language and content 

**Beta: ****willwork4dean**. Thanks for whipping this into shape doll! 

**Genre:** Angst (what else!)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything relating to the TV show NCIS sadly.  

**Story: **Dark fic. Tony DiNozzo shows only what he wants people to see.... 

**Notes:** Dedicated to **Iantalia** as it was her rather fabulous story **'There Loomed an Ogre' **that inspired me to actually write in a new fandom. My first NCIS fiction.... so please be gentle! *is nervous as a virgin*

* * *

**Convincing the World He Didn't Exist**

Tony threw his backpack against the wall as he yanked at his tie, pulling it down until it hung in an open noose around his neck. His fingers then quickly worked the top buttons loose on his shirt.

He leant his head back against the closed door of his apartment and took several deep inhalations that made his lungs burn and his head swim. He breathed in the faint scent of leather, pizza and cologne his place always seemed to exude. He hoped that the usually comforting smells would finally chase away the still-lingering stench of the bloated Gunny they'd pulled from under an outcrop in the Shenandoah National Park early that morning.

It didn't.

The greasy, cloying smell of death seemed to hang around him in a fog, clinging to his skin, hair and clothes even though he'd showered at the office. He idly thought it was about time someone invented soap that could effectively take away the scent of corpse. Whoever did would make a killing (no pun intended) from the various law enforcement agencies, but until that happened he guessed he was stuck with it.

He took several more breaths, this time to try and calm his empty stomach as an image of the coyote-ravaged Gunny charged back into his consciousness.

Tony knew what was coming before it happened. It always did when he greedily filled his lungs like he'd just done, but it still took him by surprise. His body suddenly spasmed, and he found himself having to brace his hands against his knees as he coughed and coughed. He cursed out loud to himself as he tried to stem the barks that echoed around the silent room.

The deep tickle in his chest thankfully stopped as quickly as it had started, and he slowly straightened up and banged his chest with his fist to loosen the phlegm that always gathered following a heavy coughing bout. Ever since the whole Y-Pestis thing he'd had to concede his lungs weren't what they used to be. Not that he'd ever actually admit that fact to anyone. Didn't need to. He passed his medical each year, and his fitness levels were still better than was strictly needed to pass muster to be a field agent… but he noticed. Cold mornings always made him hack up a lung on waking, and if he pushed himself too far when jogging the ache in his chest went far beyond the usual burn of a good workout.

He'd so far managed to keep from his colleagues just how much his lungs still bothered him, although he'd almost been caught out several times. The last notable occasion had involved a broken elevator at a crime scene and twelve flights of stairs. Ziva and McGee had laughed as he'd puffed up to the top floor, citing his appalling diet and unhealthy lifestyle as the cause. He'd laughed along and pouted that there was nothing wrong with his diet of pizza and movies when all the time he'd been trying not to pass out as his lungs fought to inflate and black spots swam in front of his eyes.

They were easy to fool. His boss — not so much. Gibbs had stared at him hard when he'd finally reached the top, coffee in his hand and ice-blue eyes boring holes into his face. But Tony had managed to cleanly deflect any questions by making a wholly inappropriate comment about the body hanging from the stairwell, thus earning a pissed look and a harder-than-normal head slap.

He'd long ago learnt that bad behavior was a perfect tool to hide his insecurities. If anyone got too close, too personal, then irritate the hell out of them and they soon lost any impetus to dig further. It had worked as a kid and was still working now. Better people think you an affable fool than show them what a major fuck-up you were. It had been his personal coping mechanism for a long time, thanks to mommy and daddy dearest. He never measured up to their high expectations. His mom wanted a miniature mannequin she could dress up and show off to her society friends, and heaven forbid he get dirty or want a hug. Maybe it was best that she'd died when she had because he was not sure he could have coped with the wearing of sailor suits and Little Lord Fauntleroy shit into his teens. And the less said about his over-ambitious, dominating father, the better.

Tony walked into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of Jack that sat on the side. He picked up a glass from the drainer and poured himself a measure. He swallowed it down quickly, liking the burn in his throat and sting in his nose as the fumes rose. At least the acrid tang of alcohol chased away the corpse stink. Maybe that was why so many cops had a drinking problem? They were just trying to wash away the stench of the job. Tony took the bottle and glass and slumped down on the couch.

He leant forward and took off his gun, laying it carefully on the table in front of him.

He poured another tumbler and sipped, not taking his eyes off the weapon.

It had been a bad day, a bad week. Hell, who was he kidding? It had been a bad fucking year. He was wound so tight these days his skin felt like it was splitting.

A bit like the fly-blown cadaver they'd found today.

Tony eventually pulled his eyes away from his Sig, mentally shaking himself and focused instead on the amber liquid in his glass. The evenings where the first thing he did was pour a drink were becoming increasingly frequent. He knew that wasn't a good thing, but the numbness it brought was just too damn tempting and he needed something at the end of the day.

Anything to ease the looming explosion he could always feel just building under the surface. That's why he always dated women a lot younger than himself. He knew that Ziva and McGee thought it was purely a shallow thing. Kate had certainly thought he had less depth than a puddle and only went for 'eye candy' girls because it fit his frat boy image but that wasn't the case.

It really wasn't.

You didn't need to wine and dine the girls he dated. There was no real expectation, certainly no biological clocks ticking. They liked the look of you, you liked the look of them, and bam, you had sex. Generally all they wanted was fun and the kudos of dating a federal agent. Tony knew that if he showed up late at night at the door of pretty much any of the girls in his little black book, they wouldn't question why, they wouldn't try to analyze his mood or want to know how his day had been, and that's how he wanted it. That's how he needed it to be. Sometimes they had barely opened the door before he was pushing them back against a wall and unzipping, so great was his need for release. Of course they took it as a compliment, thought it was because they were so irresistible to him. They assumed that he'd been thinking about them all day and that was the cause of his hurried advances. Little did they know his urgent need for release wasn't exactly sexual but born from needing to discharge all the pent-up emotions that threatened to tear him in two.

They didn't care what caused the raw animal show of his libido. They were just happy to be on the receiving end of it. And if they did begin to wonder or question his motives, he had usually moved on to the next girl.

Allowing people to get close was not an option anymore. He'd been there, tried that, and it hadn't ended well.

He still couldn't think about Jeanne without feeling numb and empty. He'd been stupid, so fucking stupid, but he had loved her. He really had allowed himself to think that there was a life beyond his usual lonely existence. But who was he kidding? She hadn't fallen in love with him at all. She didn't know the real him.

She'd loved Tony DiNardo the college professor, not Tony DiNozzo the lying bastard federal agent sleeping with her to get info on her father. Her trying to frame him for murder just proved that the relationship had at best been a house of cards ready to tumble down as soon as she found out he had been working undercover, but for a time it had felt so real, so right.

Then there had been Paula. That had been a love/hate relationship if ever there was, but he had genuinely cared for her. Saw so much of himself in her eyes. That's probably why it hadn't worked out — they were too much alike. But he had seen their relationship as something that would always be there. They'd drift back together when needed, fight and make up throughout their lives, and probably have ended up living in a condo together getting on each other's nerves and having affairs just to spite each other.

Of course, that was before he'd watched her get blown to smithereens by a fanatic's bomb. He was no stranger to a grisly crime scene as a serving homicide cop in Philly, Baltimore, and Peoria (and NCIS had certainly thrown out some shit that would make your eyes bleed), but seeing a woman he'd laughed with, held as she cried, made love to, reduced to what looked like several half-cooked joints of pot roast had been something he never, ever wanted to witness again.

He had almost lost it that day. She'd died to save others, to save him and Gibbs, and he'd wanted to scream, shout, and punch something, anything — a wall, a face, it didn't matter he just wanted to feel pain, punch until his hands bled and yell until his voice grew horse because it hadn't been fair.

He hadn't done any of those things.

Control was the only thing he had, the only thing stopping the crazy getting out, and if there was one thing he was good at it was controlling his emotions around others. So he'd just calmly processed the crime scene and ignored the worried looks the team had given him. Of course, he'd had Jeanne back then, not that he could have talked to her about how he'd felt. College professors who spent their time lecturing students on French film noir and Ingmar Bergman films did not have colleagues who juggled with Islamic extremist's bombs.

And the sad thing was getting blown up wasn't a rare occurrence anymore in his job. It was an occupational hazard now, and just one of many. He'd lost count of how many times he'd been caught in a bomb blast. He'd been shot, stabbed, drugged, tied up, tortured, almost had his throat cut by a serial killer he thought was his friend. Hell, he'd even been infected with the freaking pneumonic plague and the thing was… he didn't care anymore.

He just didn't care.

And not caring was a bad thing in his job.

Burnout.

He knew the signs even if he couldn't do anything about them. He'd witnessed cops going down the same path too many times not to know them. But reaching out to anyone meant you were weak, and if there was one thing his boss hated, it was that. The tough ex-Marine wouldn't pander to his emotional state — hell, Tony would be off his team quicker than you could say psych evaluation.

He drained his glass and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm.

Forrest Gump was a stinking fucking liar…Life was a big ol' crock of shit, and no one could convince him otherwise.

He had to fight the urge to throw the glass in his hand against the nearest wall. He'd been doing that a lot recently too — it kind of went hand in hand with the drinking and self-pity parties — but he stopped himself, mainly because he was running out of glassware but also it meant he'd have to haul his ass off the couch to get another glass, and drinking from the bottle just smacked of desperation. He choked out a laugh. Like routinely smashing glasses against the wall wasn't warning enough. He'd already crossed that particular line.

He checked his watch. He had to be up in five hours and wasn't remotely tired, but if he didn't go to bed anytime soon he'd sit on his ass all night drinking himself to oblivion, and he couldn't afford that. Gibbs was like a bloodhound and would smell the booze in a nanosecond, no matter how much gum he chewed.

He leaned forward and picked up his gun. Feeling the comfortable weight of it in his hand.

It would be so easy.

So very easy.

He bit his lip and with his free hand he poured just enough Jack to cover the bottom of the glass. He drained it quickly, his hand shaking.

With one last look at the gun in his hand he stood and walked over to the table over by his front door. He laid his gun down, ready for when he left for work in the morning.

He'd go to work and smile like everything was fine.

He'd ball up paper and throw it at McGee and see how many times he could call him 'Probie' in a day.

He'd flirt outrageously with Ziva until she threatened to maim him.

He'd piss Gibbs off by playing Tetris while he should be working.

And he'd go and accept a hug from Abby because that's what she did.

He wondered if Gibbs, Abby, Ziva, Ducky, or McGee would ever have guessed that the fun-loving, immature goofball that was Tony DiNozzo went home each night and contemplated eating his gun.

His boss in Baltimore had said it was always the ones you least expected — but there was a reason Tony was a great undercover agent.

He never let people see the real him.

Kevin Spacey said it best in _The Usual Suspects._

"The greatest trick the devil pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist."

That was his favorite movie quote.

He liked to work on the same premise.

**_TBC_**


	2. Chapter 2

**  
Convincing the World He Didn't Exist**

Chapter two

Gibbs pulled the plank of wood out of the steam bath and tightly clamped one end to the vice. He used the weight of his body to bend the wood into shape and held it firm as the plank cooled. Satisfied, he turned the steam off and picked up the chipped coffee mug that sat on his workbench. He took a deep swallow and sighed as the alcohol hit his stomach. It didn't quell the feeling of dread he felt but it sure helped.

He picked up his cell phone and for what seemed like the tenth time that evening, checked that the damn thing was switched on.

For months now, every evening he'd wait for a call. A call that he fervently hoped with all his soul he'd never actually receive.

The only time he'd let himself fully relax was each morning when he saw Tony walk out of the elevator and into the bullpen. The relief he felt when he saw his agent on those mornings was something he couldn't put into words.

Why did he watch out every morning?

Because Tony was scaring him right now.

Oh, he was well aware that people thought he didn't give a crap about anything or anyone, but that wasn't the truth. His team meant more to him than anyone would ever know, but his Marine background was such that you didn't show feelings too readily because that just muddied the water. You did your job and you showed you cared by covering their asses…that was the code.

You didn't get too close to anyone because in a job where you could get blown to hell at any point it didn't bode well for your mental health.

But somewhere down the line he'd relaxed that particular code even if he didn't always show it.

Tim infuriated and made him proud in equal measure. Even after all the years he'd been a field agent he still needed to toughen up and not take things so personally, but he was shaping up nicely.

Ziva. She was fiercely dedicated and one hell of a fighter. She had slotted into the team after Kate had died and added an element that he hadn't been aware was missing.

Abby was Abby. She always could make him smile, her boisterousness the very essence of the girl. She was one of the very few genuinely 'good' people he'd ever come across, and his trips to her lab were often the highlight of his day.

Ducky was the voice of reason he needed and was one of his closest friends.

But it was his senior field agent that kept him oddly grounded. He couldn't explain it, but out of everyone he'd ever worked with, Tony was the only person he'd trusted implicitly to have his back.

Duck kept saying that they were more alike than they both realized, and that's what had him so worried. He had looked into the green eyes and seen a glimpse of his own past hurtling back at him. He recognized the look of utter defeat in Tony's eyes as the one that had stared back at him after Kelly and Shannon had died, and that's what scared the hell out of him.

He knew that road well and he knew where it could lead if you didn't pull yourself out of its oppressive darkness.

Gibbs took another swig of bourbon.

He couldn't put his finger on when he first noticed the ominous cloud that hung over his senior agent like a storm, the malaise that haunted his eyes and showed in every tense muscle and every surreptitiously clenched jaw.

The big open-beam smiles were still there, the infantile sense of humor was definitely still in attendance – ask McGee, who'd found his coffee mug super glued to his hand yesterday-- and his focus on the job was still impeccable --when needed -- but it just didn't ring true to Gibbs.

If you didn't know what to look for, you would have missed all the subtle changes in the subtexts that made up DiNozzo's complex personality. But he'd known Tony for a long time, and over the years he'd learnt to read his agent pretty well. With Tony, it wasn't about what you saw but what you didn't see. It was about what Tony hid.

Tony was pure smoke and mirrors.

Tony DiNozzo was an illusion that rivaled anything David Blaine could come up with.

He knew that when he first recruited Tony, his fellow agents and superiors thought he'd clearly lost his mind. Here was a man who appeared to have all the intellect of an amoeba.

Tony didn't seem to know when to keep his mouth shut. He was politically incorrect to the extreme, thought nothing of comments about boobs and sex around the water cooler. He appeared to be as enlightened as a cross between Neanderthal man and your typical fifteen year old jock.

He managed to rub everybody the wrong way.

Hell, DiNozzo pissed people off more than he did and that was quite an achievement. But somehow people always forgave Tony. Gibbs was sure they didn't even know why they did, but no matter what went before people found themselves actually liking Tony. Maybe it was because there was never any malice behind his comments or actions.

But he'd seen beyond all that crap right from the start, known that behind the sex-fiend persona and the moronic behavior was a sharp mind and one hell of a cop.

Tony had a disarming quality about him that served well with suspects and victims alike, got them to open up before they knew they were doing it.

When Tony stopped grandstanding like a hyperactive kid he was an excellent agent. Tony often saw things from a different slant and what distinguished him more than anyone Gibbs had worked with before were his skills undercover. DiNozzo could effortlessly morph into whoever and whatever he needed to be. It was frightening to watch because anyone who could readily lose himself so quickly, so completely …well, it made you wonder just who that person really was.

And that was why he wasn't buying Tony's act now.

And it was an act.

The dark circles under Tony's eyes told of sleepless nights, and often he smelt alcohol on his second-in-command's breath, which was a new development. In the past Tony would nurse a few beers but that was usually the extent of his drinking, unless he was at a frat house reunion. The drinking alarmed him. Tony, for all his unique and irritating ways, was professional when it came to work and that meant not coming in half-drunk. Not that most would have noticed, as he covered it well, but it was like he really didn't care anymore.

That's what scared him most.

If he didn't care about work, then he didn't care about himself.

That smacked of one thing in his mind.

He'd seen it many times before.

He'd been there himself.

After he'd shot the son-of-a-bitch who'd killed his wife and daughter, he'd hoped for closure. All he got instead was a great big empty hole where his life had been. He just didn't give a shit about anything. He drank heavily. He picked fights with people twice his size. And although he'd never admit it to anyone, he'd picked up his gun on more than one occasion back then and stared down the barrel.

He'd come so close to pulling the trigger until one day it just stopped hurting so much.

Just like that. He'd had no great epiphany about life, no great revelation.

One day it had just gotten better.

And that was the bitch.

Gibbs sat back and rubbed his eyes.

Talking wouldn't help. He knew that from experience. When you were that low, words were cheap. Therapy worked for some. Tim was the type of guy who could spill his guts, but it was not for them. They were too much alike, both going through life mistrusting strangers, swearing blind to friends that everything was okay.

Tony was definitely as stubborn as he was that way. Though on reflection, Tony was probably far worse because… hell…. being married as many times as he'd been must have meant he had let people in at some point. Tony firmly kept his women at arm's length at all times, especially since Jeanne.

Gibbs picked up a sanding block and started to methodically rub the already satin smooth surface of the boat. The familiar action helped to calm the agitation he felt.

Tony would either manage to shake off the black dogs that were chasing him… or he wouldn't.

It was as simple as that.

Only Tony could crawl out of that hole.

Only Tony could fight it.

He prayed as he sanded that tonight Tony would cling onto that small something that would stop him from actually putting the cold steel under his chin and pulling that damn trigger because a world without Anthony DiNozzo in it would be a fucking tragedy.

He wasn't sure the team could survive if anything were to happen to Tony.

Gibbs threw the sanding block against the stairs and watched as it bounced against the rail. He'd never felt so damn helpless in all his life.

It was easier when he didn't care.

**Fin??**

Or should I continue....*strokes my imaginary beard*

R+R people, I'm such a review whore. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Usual disclaimers apply, I own nothing.

**Convincing the World He Didn't Exist**

_Chapter 3_

Tony groaned and rolled over. This was getting so stale. What the hell was wrong with him? His arm took an automatic swipe at the bedside table to stop the irritating buzzing sound that invaded the room. The clock fell to the floor with a thud as his hand clumsily grabbed at anything remotely solid but the noise still blared.

He grunted as he used one hand to grope for the plastic cube on the floor that seemed intent on scrambling his brain.

He slammed the clock down on the table and slumped back down amongst the covers, shutting his eyes as he did so.

Why was it that recently, even though he'd spend the best part of the night staring at the ceiling unable to switch off, he always feel like he could sleep for America once the alarm went off?

Murphy 's Law sure was a fucker.

Tony slowly got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom, stretching his weary muscles as he went. He peed then listlessly brushed his teeth as he waited for the shower to warm up.

Even the water cascading down didn't manage to chase away the deep-seated ache he felt in his tired limbs. He stood and let the water drum down hard against his back as he yawned.

He couldn't even summon up the energy to partake in his usual bout of morning self-abuse. It hadn't gone unnoticed to him that his sex drive had taken a nosedive in recent weeks. It seemed to have disappeared right along with the ability to sleep.

It was just another affirmation of how shit his life had become to have his two favorite pastimes elude him. Hell, his old self would have thought nothing of knocking out a couple before bounding out the door, energized and ready for the day. Now he considered himself lucky if he managed to get to work on time.

Tony shut off the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. Grabbing a carton of milk from the fridge he sat down on the couch and gulped the cold liquid as he flicked through the TV channels.

He only stopped drinking when his taste buds finally caught up with his brain.

Crap.

He leapt up. With his hand clamped firmly over his mouth he ran over to the kitchen sink and noisily brought up the rank contents of his stomach. Even when he knew his gut _had_ to be empty he still found himself retching and retching, bringing up nothing but bile at the mere thought of the rancid milk sliding down his throat. Just when he thought he was going to bring up a kidney he finally managed to gain control over his gag reflex. He rinsed his mouth out several times under the faucet.

He checked the carton. Six days out of date. He thought back and realized he couldn't actually remember the last time he'd been grocery shopping, so no surprise it tasted sour. He poured the last of the milk down the sink and dumped the carton into the trash.

He gripped the counter top and hung his head. Drinking rancid milk had just put a big shiny proverbial cherry on the top of what was already shaping up to be a truly shitty day.

He sat back down in front of the TV and stared at the screen without actually watching and contemplated calling Gibbs to say that he wouldn't be going in.

It was a nice thought but a stupid one. He'd never called in sick the whole time he'd been at NCIS and he figured right now wasn't the time to start. The way Gibbs had been riding his ass recently, he'd probably want a certified doctor's note to prove he really was sick.

It seemed whenever he turned around Gibbs was giving him the ol' fish-eye and it was getting more than a little disconcerting. His boss had also mysteriously taken to calling in the evening to ask pointless questions about whatever case they were working on. It was like Gibbs was checking that Tony was doing his job properly or something. Tony felt like his judgment was being questioned at every turn and he was back to being treated like the fucking 'probie' again. He couldn't even enjoy a drink at night anymore because he worried Gibbs had begun to detected the slur that slugging 'Jack' after a hard day gave him.

He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms.

Why couldn't he just crawl back into his bed and pull the covers over his head until the world went away?

Why?

Because he was supposedly a highly trained federal agent who needed to get to work before his boss fired his sorry ass for being late again.

He got up and headed for the bedroom and pulled a random pair of pants and a shirt out of his closet and dressed quickly.

He was out the door before he had time to dwell on the fact that his bed looked so damn tempting.

* * *

Gibbs didn't like sneaking up on people. It was just a natural God-given gift he had. But it did prove a useful tool to have in his arsenal sometimes. He waited until he'd got as close to his second's back as he could before he cleared his throat.

Tony jumped and turned in quick succession.

"Boss?" he questioned.

Gibbs watched as Tony's brain mentally worked through all the things he'd possibly done wrong, but this wasn't a 'head slap' moment but strictly a recon mission.

While Gibbs was relieved to only smell stale coffee on Tony's breath that morning, he was more concerned at what he saw in front of him.

"You look like crap, DiNozzo," he said succinctly.

"Thanks, Boss….always nice to hear." Tony smiled widely but Gibbs noticed that once again the smile didn't manage to reach his eyes, didn't even come close.

Dammit. Every day he hoped that Tony had shaken off the black mood that had dogged him for months now but each day it seemed to consume him a little more. He'd even tried calling him in the evening to make sure he was okay, but all he seemed to do was piss DiNozzo off more.

Gibbs took a mouthful of coffee as he sat down at his desk. He let the morning banter flow instead of giving the usual order to get back to work. Thank God, it appeared that the rest of the team had finally bought a clue that things seemed seriously off with Tony. It had taken long enough -- Tony was a slick bastard when it came to lying -- but even they couldn't ignore the fact that DiNozzo was phoning it in these days

Tony did look like ten pounds of crap shovelled in a two pound bag. His skin was pale and waxy and his eyes red rimmed and bloodshot. Tony used to always be groomed within an inch of his life so he could schmooze the ladies safe in the knowledge he was 'best at show' but these days he turned up to work like he'd simply rolled out of bed.

And it looked like Gibbs wasn't the only one who'd noticed that development.

The conversation had switched from breakfast and Ziva's bus ride back to Tony.

"You have been looking like you've been dragged through a tree backwards these days, Tony." Ziva narrowed her eyes and walked over to where Tony stood. "Is everything okay?"

"It's 'bush' Zee-va and I'm fine thank you." Tony sidestepped her and sat down behind his desk, pretending to be interested in his computer screen.

"Rough night again, Tony? You seem to be having a lot of those recently." McGee piped up and looked relieved that the conversation had been brought up.

Gibbs didn't miss the worried and somewhat conspiratorial side-glance he gave to Ziva.

"Not rough, just… productive… shall we say, McVirgin. When you're older I'll tell you all about the birds and the bees." Tony muttered into his screen.

"But isn't good sex supposed to give you a healthy glow, Tony? You look like the walking dead."

Tony shot Ziva a venomous look and returned to his screen, but she didn't back down and stared back at him.

Gibbs watched Ziva reach out and grab Tony under the chin forcing him to look her in the eye.

"You look ill." She spoke softly, and the concern seemed at odds with her usual steely personality.

"You _don't_ look your usual self, Tony." McGee confirmed meekly.

"Maybe you have been burning the candle at both ends…no?" Ziva continued.

"Jesus, will you two stop with the fucking visual autopsy, I'm fine! Okay…a-o-fucking-k fine!" Tony's voice rose to a level that carried across the floor. He slapped Ziva's hand away a little too hard and stood up abruptly. Ziva actually looked shocked at the sudden movement and stepped back. He was halfway out the bullpen before Gibbs could react.

_"DiNozzo!_"

Tony stopped mid-stride and turned impatiently.

"What! I'm going to the head or do I need your permission for that too now, Boss?" ,

The tone was not DiNozzo; it was sharp, hard-edged, more than a little pissy and was enough to make all the other agents in the area stop what they were doing to watch with interest.

Gibbs decided not to give them a show. Instead, he just watched Tony as he stalked away.

He was aware that McGee and Ziva were both watching him as if to gauge what his reaction would be. To be honest he didn't know how to handle the situation anymore. It was fast spiraling out of his control and he sorely missed the old easy atmosphere that his team used to have. He realized that in his unique way Tony had been the glue that held them all together but without that spark anymore they were all clearly floundering.

"Back to work!" He barked and tried to act like his normally even-tempered second hadn't just thrown a hissy fit like a petulant child.

The bad feeling he'd had since waking intensified but it got a whole lot worse when two hours later they got a hit on a BOLO they'd put out the day before on a Paul Stryker and his brother, the chief suspects in the senseless homicide of a navy family in Georgetown.

He threw the keys to Tony and told everyone to saddle up but the strained atmosphere around DiNozzo tempered the usual excitement of the chase.

For the past week or so Tony didn't even seem to be making an effort to act his old effervescent self. There had been a slow decline in the jokes and fooling around until all they were left with was a shell. It looked like DiNozzo, sounded like DiNozzo, but the man who picked up his backpack and silently made his way to the elevator was most definitely not DiNozzo.

Or maybe it was. Maybe this was the real Tony and he just couldn't maintain the sleight of hand anymore.

* * *

Gibbs cursed as the two perps they'd come to arrest decided to run the moment they saw their car pull up. One went to the left while the other sprinted fast over a wall. DiNozzo was out and running before he had a chance to open his mouth and was already vaulting the expanse of brick.

"Go!" He yelled at Ziva and McGee and nodded towards the rapidly vanishing back of the second perp and he started to run to catch up with his senior field agent.

What bothered him was they were heading towards a populated area full of moms pushing strollers and shoppers out enjoying the sun. They didn't know if Stryker was armed but people like him didn't usually shy away from guns. This was not how it was supposed to go down.

Why did they always run?

He was getting too old for this shit.

Damn, DiNozzo was fast. Whatever was bothering him obviously wasn't affecting his turn of speed. Tony was flying, his jacket flapping as he dodged around the people on the sidewalk, threading his way and yelling for everyone to get out of the way. Gibbs knee groaned with each footfall, and as fit as he was he could feel himself lagging behind.

Stryker suddenly switched direction and darted across the road. Tony followed without even pausing to look. A cab slammed on its breaks, Stryker dodged it but Tony was too close and all Gibbs could do was watch helplessly as he saw Tony hit the hood with a loud bang.

He automatically shouted a warning and a woman on the other side of the street to him screamed, her mouth open in a wide 'o'.

But somehow Tony just slid off the car, stumbled, then spun around in a flailing arch as he righted himself and without really breaking his stride he continued across the road.

Even though the cab hadn't been going fast the impact must have hurt like a bitch.

Adrenalin was a powerful thing. Tony wouldn't be feeling any pain until he stopped.

Gibbs cursed realizing that he'd lost vital seconds reveling in the relief that he wasn't going to have to scrape Tony off the asphalt. He pulled out his badge and flashed it to slow the now moving traffic and followed in the direction he'd last seen the two running men before he realized something.

He'd reached an impasse.

Was it left or right or straight?

There were too many people milling around, too many possibilities.

He'd lost them.

With his breath heaving he took the time to listen instead of just running like a headless chicken in the wrong direction.

Above the sounds of the street he heard Tony's distinctive voice shout then a loud crack that was unmistakably a gunshot followed by screams.

"Dammit DiNozzo, you're going to be the death of me," He was off and running again in the direction the shot had come from, his gun out and by his side.

People scattered.

As Gibbs rounded the corner, a fucked-up tableau waited for him.

A security guard lay on the floor clutching his stomach to try and stem the flow of crimson that ballooned from the wound. A woman knelt next to him unable to do anything other than stare at the blood as it ran onto the sidewalk.

People stood as if turned to stone, unable to move… whether it was sheer freight that kept them there or just human nature wanting to pep up their day with the jaded thrill of watching a madman shove a gun into somebody's neck.

Stryker had grabbed a young woman and was holding her in front of him as a human shield. She was tall and broad and was perfect for the job. Gibbs took in a young boy a foot away, staring with big eyes, holding a stuffed rabbit to his chest as his mother sobbed and begged for life.

But that wasn't what made Gibbs gut clench.

Tony stood in front of Stryker and was negotiating hard, but something was off.

"Come on, let her go, what are you going to do… shoot her in front of her kid?"

He could only watch with astonishment as Tony lowered his gun slowly.

"Let her go, just let her go. It's me you're pissed at, not her."

He felt sick at the next words coming out of his agent's mouth. They were low but spoken with an authority that carried.

"If you want to shot anyone else…shoot me…come on…I'm giving you a free shot buddy…it's nail a fed day…come on…."

What the fuck was DiNozzo doing?

It went against all protocol. What the hell was he thinking? You _never_ lowered your weapon…_ never_ …even if you couldn't get a clear shot you stood firm, you did not give the fuckers the upper hand.

Gibbs swallowed and raised his weapon but he couldn't get a shot from his angle. The young woman was hysterical and moving too erratically, jerking her head as she sobbed.

"NCIS…Drop your weapon," Gibbs yelled to announce he had entered the equation but it was too late.

Everything happened at once.

Stryker pulled the gun out from under the woman's neck in one fluid motion and straightened his arm, aiming at Tony's head. He didn't pause, didn't even look his way.

If asked after the event Gibbs would have to say that it all happened as if in slo-mo.

Gibb's watched the finger tighten on the trigger, saw the steel in Stryker's eyes as he took aim.

And he did something as a sniper he'd been taught not to.

He shut his eyes.

Gibbs knew he could watch, not after Kate.

Not again.

The gunshot was deafening to his ears even though he'd been expecting it.

He felt his heart jump into his throat.

Not again.

**TBC**

**Oh I do believe I'm most evil. Yup, evil incarnate but be warned, the devil comes with many disguises ... that is all I'll say. People who have read my other fandom KNOW that I'm like and know how I love to play games.**

Your reviews are always welcome. xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: A huge thank you to the _6 _people who reviewed the last chapter, Belker, peanutmeg, samanthasgal, Keydazy, nicksfriend and diana teo. And also to Catsmeou for her glorious begging e-mail. I really do appreciate you taking the time out to comment, it made my day and gave me some validation that people are actually reading this. Getting numerous alerts from people adding this to their favorites or wanting a mail when the next chapter is up is great but it really isn't the same as geting a lovely review. So thanks to the above people. I love you and want to have your babies!**

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**Chap 4**

Tony could feel every beat of his heart as it crashed in his chest. A steady beat that squeezed at the back of his throat and pulsed around his whole body in a tight wave. His eyes moved downwards and locked onto the gun as Stryker aimed.

He couldn't help but jump when he heard the shot as it reverberated off the surrounding building— and it took one long second to realize that he was still standing, unlike the man opposite who was falling face first onto the sidewalk in a shower of red.

Tony saw a cloud of dark hair and the glint of metal in his peripheral vision and understood why he wasn't the one on the floor with a hole in his body.

He gulped tightly and numbly nodded to his partner in silent thanks as she moved towards him. He watched Ziva kick the gun out of Stryker's hand, although Tony doubted the man, if alive, would still have the requisite motor skills to function, seeing that half his head was now missing.

Tony holstered his weapon and moved in instinctively to scoop up the shell-shocked boy and the hysterical woman and propel them away from the corpse that lay at their feet. They'd been through enough without having to see the grey brain matter and skull fragments that now splattered the ground.

Tony pushed them into a store doorway and held on, shielding them with his body so they couldn't see the fallen criminal, trying to make things better but knowing that it would take a hell of a lot more than a hug from him before this family would sleep soundly again.

He looked up and saw McGee hurriedly puffing up to Gibbs, out of breath, his face red and sweating. From the looks of it Gibbs was already issuing orders, but his eyes were firmly looking straight towards him. Tony sighed and looked away. He was used to that pissed expression now. Not long ago it would have devastated him to know that his boss was disappointed in him, but nowadays he really couldn't bring himself to care much. He was just tired of dealing with all the same shit, day in, day out.

He glanced towards Ziva as she knelt by the fallen security guard, her hands pressed down against the gunshot wound in his gut. She was also staring at him but he couldn't decipher what was going on behind the look, so he did what was becoming second nature to him—he just ignored it.

The woman clung to him, fisting the cloth of his shirt, her tears and snot soaking the fabric of his jacket as she screamed hysterically, her whole body shaking. The boy had silently buried his head into his neck, his small hands and legs clamped hard around his body like a limpet.

Tony muttered, not even sure of what he was saying, his words mingling with the steady murmur of the growing crowd and the sound of distant sirens. He shifted the boy higher on his hip and tried to work out why his back and legs were hurting when the tiny body weighed next to nothing, but his brain felt fogged and useless so he gave up trying to think and squeezed the bodies next to him a little bit tighter.

The warmth from the boy was strangely comforting and Tony breathed in the unique scent of small boy— musky, faintly grubby with a hint of soap and shampoo— as he willed his own legs to stop shaking.

* * *

The moment Gibbs realized that it was Stryker laying on the ground and not Tony, the relief he felt quickly turned to a white-hot rage that gathered in his chest and gut.

Gibbs willed himself to stay calm as he started to claim the crime scene. It wasn't easy, though. He couldn't even think straight, couldn't work out what the hell had happened until McGee had appeared at his side. Apparently Ziva and McGee had lost Stryker's brother almost immediately when he'd jumped on a motor bike, so they'd immediately doubled back and followed. Ziva had then peeled off to see if she could get ahead of the perp.

She'd obviously managed it. It was down to her quick thinking and excellent gun skills, her experience, that had provided the backup needed while he'd stood like a fucking probie pissing his pants.

Ziva was the only reason Tony wasn't dead.

They should work together like a well-oiled machine but lately they barely seemed to function. And he knew damn well who was causing the tear in the fabric of the team.

You shouldn't have to second-guess your team's actions, shouldn't be distracted because someone you cared about seemed to be working off a different page. The team did not need a loose cannon careering around on deck. This time Tony had dodged a very real bullet, but next time he might just get someone else killed.

Someone who didn't share Tony's new-found cavalier attitude to life.

As team lead it would be on his head.

Dammit.

He needed to get a grip because there were too many people around for him to march up to DiNozzo and grab him by the lapels and start yelling like he wanted to. It didn't help matters that, when Tony eventually looked his way, all he saw was an impassive dull eyed stare. The old DiNozzo would have been silently pleading forgiveness for fucking up, but this Tony didn't seem to care.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so angry. He knew his jaw was clenched and his hands balled into fists but he forced himself to secure the crime scene and to function like he didn't want to shake some sense into his second-in-command like a pit-bull tearing into a rat.

* * *

McGee felt like he was late to the party. He couldn't quite understand what had happened to make the atmosphere so shitty. Okay, a civilian getting shot was never a good thing but this went beyond the usual ire over the many man-hours of extra paperwork it generated. A palpable cloud hung overhead, and he'd be damned if he knew what caused it.

Both Ziva and Gibbs had been snapping at him from the moment he arrived on the scene. The only person who wasn't acting like they'd just eaten broken glass was Tony, but then he wasn't exactly his usual self these days.

As he photographed Stryker, he noticed that Gibbs and Ziva's black moods were specifically aimed at Tony. Neither seemed to speak directly to him for some reason. It was like he was in exile. He'd tried to ask Tony what was up but all he'd gotten in response was a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders, even though Tony's body language looked anything but relaxed— his face was pale and his jaw seemed to be competing with Gibbs' as to who could clench it harder.

The feeling he got in the pit of his stomach didn't lessen when he noticed Gibbs pounce on Ducky the moment he arrived, and by the covert looks they were both sending Tony's way, he was clearly the object of their discussion. The obvious worry on Ducky's face as he listened to what Gibbs was saying made him want to stand on the coffee cart next to him and yell, "Will someone please put me in the loop and tell me what the hell is going on?"

It was only when he'd started to take the witness statements that he got a grasp on what had happened. The stories differed slightly in the telling but the general gist was the same:

_"…then that tall cop told the man with the gun to shoot him…"_

_"…the dude over there got totally in the other guy's face and goaded the guy to shoot him, I guess it's some fed training shit or something but man, it was brutal…"_

_"...he lowered the gun and asked the man to let the woman go and said that if he wanted to shoot someone then to shoot him…"_

_"…lowered his gun…"_

_"….he said shoot me…."_

McGee looked at Tony as he stood talking to several Metro cops, and it was like he was seeing him for the first time.

Where the hell was the guy who acted like everything was a big joke?

Where was the annoying guy who acted like life was one huge party cake and he was eating the biggest slice?

Where was the guy who acted like he wanted to jump every attractive woman within a mile radius?

Watching Tony rub a hand over his face as he talked, he saw for the first time just how tired and careworn he looked. Okay, they'd been worried about him recently, Tony's spark seemed to have left the building but this was…well, it was fucked-up in anyone's language. McGee couldn't imagine what it was like to stare that closely down the barrel of a gun like Tony had, but to actually bait someone who had already shown he could pull the trigger with no remorse was just incomprehensible to him.

McGee turned away, suddenly not wanting to think about what it all meant.

As much as he hated being called all the stupid names Tony came up with, the practical jokes, the stupid life lessons, McGee hoped that that guy hadn't disappeared because he needed him.

* * *

Tony knew he was screwed.

It was just a matter of time before Gibbs tore him a new one, and he didn't know how he was going to get out of this one.

But the worse thing was, the whole damn episode was a blank.

One minute he'd been chasing a perp across town and the next the guy had been on the ground, care of Ziva.

What happened in between was one big fat void.

That scared him more than anything.

It felt like he was slowly losing his mind. How the Hell could you say and do things you had no real memory of?

Oh, recently he'd lost time at home, but it didn't matter when you were sitting on your couch, and sometimes he woke up with strange women in his bed with no recollection of where he'd picked them up. Then there was the whole driving-home thing when he'd suddenly find himself outside his apartment with no knowledge of the actual journey but he figured that was okay…everyone did that sometimes.

Didn't they?

He knew what he'd done from the Metro cops. Half were slapping him on the back and acting like he was Mad Max and Batman rolled into one, but the other half— the older cops, the ones with experience—were giving him covert looks like he was radioactive. He guessed they'd seen it all, and the stench of being a fuck-up carried.

What really scared him was the fact that he couldn't seem to hold it together at work anymore. He'd always done the right thing on the job. Oh, he bent the rules when needed, but essentially, when it came down to it, when it truly mattered, he did things by the book. But today he couldn't explain his actions.

How could you defend yourself when you didn't know why you'd done it?

Maybe he was more tired than he realized.

Or maybe he was just sliding into the realms of straitjackets and soft padded cells.

* * *

The paramedics were long since gone, Jimmy had left with the body, the cops had drifted off as had the thrill-seekers and rubber-neckers, but the anger was still there like a tight knot in his gut, festering.

Gibbs gulped his now-cold coffee and watched as Tony, Ziva, and McGee packed the truck away. He nodded to Ducky as he stood obviously regaling them with a tale of derring-do (if the glazed looks on their faces was anything to go by) and if they wondered why the medic was still there, they didn't say. He loved the way that Duck would unquestionably change his plans at the drop of a hat if the team needed it, and thankfully, this was one of those occasions. He would take Tony to the damn hospital to get checked out, as his second's limp was getting more pronounced as the afternoon wore on. He figured that sending Duck would be a safer bet the way he was feeling, plus he needed to get back to the Navy yard and put out some fires.

Maybe Ducky could figure out what the hell was wrong with DiNozzo while they waited for the x-rays.

But he knew he couldn't put it off any longer.

"DiNozzo!" he barked.

In other circumstances it would have been amusing to watch as four pairs of eyes snapped up and stared at him like he was the Antichrist but not today. He ignored Ducky's silent plea to go easy and marched away so he could put some space between himself and the rest of the team, knowing that Tony would follow.

He stopped and waited for Tony to catch up, watching his second as he walked. His head was defiantly up but his eyes didn't quite match the stance.

Gibbs stood and tried to collect his thoughts but the instant Tony stopped in front of him he couldn't help but spew out what was foremost on his mind.

"Do you plan on telling me just what the HELL you were thinking?" He leaned forward, crowding Tony. His voice was registering just under a bellow, and he was pretty sure that the rest of the team could still hear him even though they were a good distance away—not what he wanted, but he couldn't help himself. All the tension he'd been holding in his body just exploded in a volley of words.

"Do you have a death wish, DiNozzo? Because if you do, I need to know!"

Old Tony would have laughed, would have looked at him as if he were crazy— Hell, he would never have pulled a stunt like he had today— but Gibb's knew this was a different animal.

"What? No…I…No!…Jesus, I was just…just trying to distract the guy."' Tony was usually loquacious, but he stumbled over his words and flushed red as he burst out a denial.

"Oh, you did that, DiNozzo, and you almost got your damn head blown off in the process. Was that the goal, huh? 'Cause that's sure what it looked like to me," Gibbs spat out.

"No!"

Tony ran a hand through his hair and started to pace. When he didn't respond beyond the one word, Gibbs asked again, frustrated, not sure that he wanted to know the answer but knowing he needed to know.

"I repeat," Gibbs barked, his voice rising again. "Do you have a death wish, Tony?"

"'I knew backup was coming," Tony bit out angrily as he stopped pacing and stared at him.

"So you thought the best thing to do was incite a gunman while you waited?"

"I wasn't…"

Gibbs just stared.

"I…look… the woman was terrified, the guy was getting twitchy…he was going to shoot her….her kid was right there…what was I supposed to do? You'd have done the same in my position."

Tony was obviously trying to rationalize the situation in his head, but Gibbs knew from the defeated look on his face that DiNozzo knew it was a crapshoot, and that kind of took the wind out of his sails. Tony argued, he got mad, he could talk his way out of the most impossible situations— but to see Tony struggle so clumsily to justify himself was so pitiful he couldn't maintain his anger.

Aw, Hell. He could cope with belligerent, but seeing Tony look like a whipped puppy, all confused and so damn…tired made what he knew he to do all that much harder.

"No, Tony," Gibbs said quietly. "I would have tried to calm him down and taken the bastard out the first opportunity I got, as I've been trained to do. As you've been trained to do. I wouldn't have lowered my weapon to give him a free shot."

Gibbs watched Tony lower his gaze to the ground.

"Tony, I don't know what's going on with you right now, but you're either going to get yourself killed or get one of us killed and I can't allow that to happen. Not on my watch. You know that, don't you?"

Tony's eyes snapped upwards.

"You're firing me?"

"To be honest, I don't know what I'm going to do, but until I decide I need to take your badge and gun.'

Tony paused, and Gibbs hoped that he had something to say on the matter, but he just wearily unclipped his gun, then produced the wallet that held his card and pushed them at him.

Tony turned and walked away without another word.

Gibbs felt like a complete bastard. He felt like he was kicking DiNozzo when he was already down, but he couldn't let emotion get in the way of the decision he knew he had to make.

"DiNozzo, go find Ducky. He's going to take you to hospital to get checked out."

"What?" Tony turned and looked confused.

"You almost got totalled by a car, Tony."

"Oh, yeah. Right." But the look of confusion was still there.

"Get checked out, then go home, get some sleep." Gibbs walked up to him and rested a hand on his arm. "You need a break,Tony. When was the last time you had a real vacation?"

Tony seemed to think about it.

"Spring Break, last year."

That kind of said it all. Gibbs squeezed his arm.

"Go find Duck, Tony."

Tony limped away again.

Dammit, how had he not seen this coming?

Gibbs walked to the truck, ignoring Ziva and McGee as they eyeballed him. He jumped up into the driver's seat and yelled at them to get in. Ziva predictably called shotgun. McGee scurried around the back, and soon his face was peering through the central panel.

Gibbs leaned forward over Ziva, flipped open the glove box, and threw Tony's gun and badge inside. He made sure both of them saw before slamming it shut.

He turned his head and glared at each in turn, daring them to say one word on the matter.

He didn't need to feel worse than he already did.

Gibbs knew he'd just done something either completely valid or unbelievably stupid.

He wasn't sure yet which it was.

**Tbc**


	5. Chapter 5

Can I just say a HUGE thank you to all who commented and left me PM's. It really does make my day you lovely people. So once again. Thanks! Onto the next chapter...

**Convincing the World He Didn't Exist**

Chapter 5

The silence in the car was deafening. Ducky lightly drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in a rhythmic tattoo to help fill the void. He was tempted to break the silence with an anecdote or two but it didn't seem entirely appropriate to the mood. It wasn't often he was lost for words but the current situation was problematic to say the least. Say too much and you'd risk pushing Anthony away. The boy really was stubborn—like Jethro in that respect—but he had insecurities that were very much his own, so say too little and he'd think you didn't care.

Ducky had always had a good relationship with the young agent from day one and had quickly fallen into an easy friendship that had transcended the large age gap between them. There was something unique about Tony that just made you respond to the high-beam smiles and more-often-than-not crass comments that came out of his mouth. He was the class clown with a sense of mischief that was highly infectious and that was certainly a boon when dealing with the grubbier side of life as they did on a daily basis.

He supposed if questioned about their relationship he'd come to think of himself as a kind of surrogate daft old uncle as well as a work colleague, seeing as Tony seemed to lack any real family. Oh, he talked a good talk about various members of the DiNozzo clan but all the stories tended to be short vignettes with no real depth of feeling behind them. And the less said about his father, the better. Anthony always made the tales involving the man seem humorous but Ducky certainly failed to see anything remotely funny in a man flying home from a vacation and forgetting about the care of his son because he'd gotten distracted by business. It was unforgivable and told a sorry tale about how much DiNozzo Senior obviously thought of Tony.

Some people really weren't fit to be parents and quite frankly, the more Anthony revealed about his own mother and father, the more it made Ducky believe that he wasn't entirely wrong in his thinking.

God only knew what issues they had left the young man with but one could guess. Tony certainly craved attention and approval from those around him and he seemed to be consumed with a definite need to be wanted. He also certainly had a need to please what appeared to be the only real father figure in his life, though he doubted that Tony even realized that was the reason he strove to please Jethro so much.

He sighed.

Yes, Anthony had issues. In fact, it really was a miracle he had turned out so well as he had, all things considered.

Ducky mused as he drove as to what would be the best way to approach the situation but the way Tony stared out of the window with a studied concentration since getting into the car told him that talk about the current situation was off limits.

If there was one thing you could rely on about Tony, it was his incredible ability to talk the hind leg off a donkey, even when avoiding a particular topic, so the fact that he was so reticent now did not bode well—but Ducky would bide his time. The right opportunity would present itself soon, of that he had no doubt, even if he suspected it meant having to rely on rather dubious means to get there.

On arrival at the hospital they were seen immediately—the advantages of being a doctor accompanying an injured federal agent. Tony didn't seem to care if Ducky were there or not, so he calmly followed on into a cubicle to give moral support, plus he suspected that Jethro would have wanted it. Anthony could be a tad blasé when it came to his health when he had a real issue, and Ducky wanted to give a detailed assessment when asked. So he stayed. He helped Tony up onto the examination bed after he'd undressed and put on a gown. He couldn't help but wince when he saw the vivid red and blue that had bloomed across Tony's hip and back.

He retreated to a chair that sat on one side of the cubicle and observed.

It was strange to watch but it was like a switch had been thrown. Tony become more animated from the moment he interacted with the young doctor. Gone was the withdrawn man from the crime scene and car and in his place was a charming, talkative agent doing his best to flirt with the attractive female medic. She seemed amused and thankfully more interested in finding the root cause of his discomfort, but it was interesting from a psychological point of view just how quickly the change happened. Ducky wasn't fooled though. To him it felt forced and not the usual full-on DiNozzo onslaught. He'd witnessed that particular trait many times and this was not it. This was like watching an actor enter center stage in a role he knew backwards but the performance he saw was quite frankly stale and lifeless.

Fascinating, truly fascinating, that Tony chose to make the effort with a total stranger when he'd seemed to have given up hiding his depression around his team. It was most worrying. Maybe it was just indicative of how he felt about his job and the people surrounding him these days. From what Jethro had indicated Tony seemed to have rather lost faith in that particular area of his life.

Ducky sat and turned his hat repeatedly in his hands as he watched the doctor poke and prod and he listened to the questions and answers as they bounced back and forth, jumping in when needed.

Tony tried to make light of his injury with his usual offhandedness until the doctor seized his leg and pushed his knee up towards his chest. The yelp of pain was spontaneous and loud, leaving him puffing for breath, a thin sheen of sweat peppering his brow. Ducky looked at the doctor and mirrored her frown.

That was not a good reaction.

"I'm afraid going to have to send you down to x-ray, Agent DiNozzo," she stated.

Tony objected but Ducky gave him an impatient stare that broached no argument, and they were quickly whisked away into the bowels of the hospital with Tony grumbling the whole way about the wheelchair he was forced to sit in.

Several x-rays later and Ducky was standing side-by-side with the doctor staring at a light box with a large transparent negative attached. He placed his glasses on the end of his nose and leaned forward as did the doctor.

"Ah ha. Do you see what I see, my dear?" he asked conspiratorially.

"Capillary fracture, left side." She frowned. "Could be worse seeing he went head-to-head with a car. He's very lucky."

"You really have no idea. Our Anthony does tend to get in the wars somewhat. Several years ago he was infected with a very nasty bout of Yersinia pestis." Ducky chuckled at the look of incredulity on the young woman's face.

"The plague…" She blinked hard.

"The very same! It was a most fascinating case really…" Ducky excitedly started. It was always a pleasure to regale fellow doctors with such an unusual tale.

An exaggerated cough broke through his train of thought.

"Excuse me…sitting right here…the patient waiting to find out what's wrong," Tony said testily.

Ducky started, having momentarily forgotten that Tony was there, so wrapped up was he in the thrill of diagnosis.

Oh dear, he really hated being the bearer of bad news.

* * *

Tony felt relaxed, which was a strange feeling considering he'd just lost his badge and probably fucked up his life beyond repair—added to that he had a fractured pelvis, which meant weeks of hobbling around on crutches.

What was even stranger was the fact he didn't feel any pain, even though he had just landed hard on the floor of his apartment with Ducky's weight top of him. He'd got his foot caught in the damn rug and dragged them both down as the doc helped him inside.

Hitting a wooden floor with a bum hip should have hurt like hell but he felt no pain. In fact, he couldn't stop laughing at the look of worry on Ducky's face the man scrambled off him.

"Oh dear, I think I may have bitten off more than I could chew. Come on young man…up off the floor."

"The floors good, I like it down here, Duck…. it's very…low…" He managed to get out before the giggles hit again.

Ducky grabbed him under the armpits and tried to heave him upwards. It was a valiant effort but he felt incapable of movement. All his limbs seemed to be made of rubber.

"Can you put your arm around my shoulder?" Ducky questioned. "That's it… now on three…one…two…three."

In one heave he was upright of sorts. He was leaning heavily on the other man but he was at least off the floor. He found himself quickly deposited on the couch. Ducky stepped back and removed his hat, wiping his brow, but he looked satisfied.

Tony was impressed. For an old guy Ducky was suspiciously strong. Maybe by day he was a mild mannered M.E but by night he wielded his scalpel in the fight against crime.

"Are you a closet superhero, Duck?" he asked "Do you have a set of secret spangled scrubs that you don at night to show criminals the error of their ways?"

He stretched his legs out in front of him and winced as a spike of pain lanced his hip.

Ducky laughed. "Of course, Anthony, you've found out my secret—and you do know that that would make Mr. Palmer my crime-fighting partner.'

Tony found himself laughing again at the mental image of the autopsy gremlin wearing tights and a cape.

Whoa, he really had to stop. His cheeks and stomach were starting to ache.

Ducky frowned at him. "Perhaps, on reflection, it would be best if I get you into bed."

He squinted up at Ducky.

"Haven't had sex for so long that invitation sounds better than it should."

What the hell? Why was he admitting to that?

"As much as I'm flattered, Tony…" Duck raised an eyebrow.

"Relax, Ducky, you are the wrong demographic. I prefer my bedfellows to have big breasts and a vagina."

Great, now he was talking about vaginas with a man old enough to be his grandfather.

Ducky just raised his eyebrow.

"Sorry, you know how I get," Tony mumbled.

"No need to apologize, Anthony." Ducky sounded amused. "We're all well aware of how opiates affect you. How about I make us a nice cup of tea before I get you settled?"

Tony nodded. Tea sounded good. He licked his lips. His mouth felt all gummy and dry. He moved his head and the whole room spun like he was drunk, so he sat still and listened to the sounds of his cupboards being opened and cups being set down.

Damn meds. Never trust a pretty woman welding a needle, especially when she sticks said needle into your ass.

Yup, he was officially flying high care of 'Captain Morphine' and he had to admit that it felt good after months of feeling like he had a giant key in his back, winding him tighter and tighter each day.

Ducky came back into the room and handed him a mug of black tea.

"I couldn't find any milk, but to get the true taste of tea it should be drunk without milk…you know it's really only us westerners who insist on putting milk in, anyway." Ducky sat down and took a tentative sip and seemed satisfied.

Tony winced at the thought of the rancid milk he'd thrown up that morning and leaned forward to put his cup down suddenly, feeling queasy at the thought of drinking anything. He missed, growling as the hot liquid slopped onto his hand. Ducky quickly reached over and took the cup from him and placed it on the coffee table.

Tony slumped back against the couch and watched as Ducky sipped his drink.

It all seemed so normal, so damn civilized that all of a sudden he felt like shouting, yelling because there was nothing about the day so far that dictated that he should be sitting on the couch watching the affable Brit drink tea like he didn't have a care in the world.

Tony suddenly felt tired and not just due to a lack of sleep.

He rubbed his eyes, wondering where his glorious high had suddenly disappeared to.

The floating buzz was gone and all he was left with was a panicky, sick feeling in his stomach. Tony gulped as the all-consuming helplessness gripped at his gut and made his heart race. It was the same feeling you got when you'd forgotten to do something important or you'd done something really stupid like watering down your mothers Stoli in the hope that she wouldn't turn up drunk to your seventh grade spelling bee.

He swallowed hard.

The silence in the room was unnerving. Even Ducky wasn't his usual vociferous self, and that was more than a little unsettling. Ducky was one of the few people who talked more than he did. That was probably one of the reasons they got along so well together.

Tony picked up his tea again and hugged the warm cup against his chest and stared down at the steaming liquid.

What the hell was he going to do next? Law enforcement was the only career he knew. It was one of the few things he'd ever really strived for, but to be honest the thought of another twenty years of getting blown up and shot at depressed the hell out of him.

But without work he had nothing.

His family was dysfunctional, to say the least. He couldn't actually remember the last time he'd spoken to his father, it was that long ago.

His social life was basically an empty shell. Oh, he had old college friends he could call up from time to time and he had his pick from his little black book. He could find a girl to screw in a second but he'd proved time and time again that when it came to actual relationships he failed big time.

And he wasn't even sure of the people he considered as friends at work. He'd couldn't help but think of Stan Burley. He'd never heard the team mention him until he'd popped up asking for help—then Abby and Ducky acted like the guy was Jesus and Elvis rolled into one. It didn't take a genius to work out that it was a clearly a case of once gone from the team, quickly forgotten.

Hell, he'd never kept in contact with anyone from Baltimore, Philly or Peoria. It's just what you did in their job.

You moved on, you forgot.

It would be the same with him.

He'd become a vague memory and the world would continue to turn.

He realized that he was doing it again, losing himself in his own internal dialogue, for how long he didn't know, but when he looked up Ducky was just staring at him with _that_ look on his face, the look that told him he was a major league fuck-up. Gibbs had been perfecting the same glare the past few months, as had Ziva.

Why the hell wasn't Ducky talking? Why wasn't he regaling him with tales of drinking yak milk in Outer Mongolia or wherever? That's what Ducky did. He talked. He didn't sit there looking expectantly, waiting for someone else to start the conversation.

It had obviously been the idea all along, because without wanting to Tony found himself filling the awkward silence. But instead of the usual controlled nonsensical crap that came out of his mouth he found himself quietly telling Ducky just how low and drained he really felt. He couldn't help himself.

He would never reveal this side of himself under normal circumstances but the morphine broke down the barriers and loosened his lips. It didn't help that Ducky was always so damn nice, so damn understanding. It was like he was trapped in an episode of 'Dr. Phil' or something with Ducky sitting there listening and taking mental notes and the worse thing about it was he just knew that Ducky would probably go back to Gibbs and repeat _ad nauseum_ the whole fucking conversation, thus sealing his fate as a grade-one nut job.

It all came out.

He talked about how he was tired of everything.

How he had started to hate work with a passion.

How he was sick to death of all the snide patronizing comments. He was fed up of being treated like a moron who had no right to be a senior agent but the fact that he'd saved their asses again and again was always conveniently ignored.

He was so tired of being used, chewed up and spat out like he was dispensable.

All his old insecurities came pouring out.

He was a fake.

He didn't actually like himself very much, so why should anyone else?

And it ended with how he'd die a lonely old man …if he ever made it that far.

If.

He was just so sick of it all.

He realized he was still clutching his cup of tea, now stone cold.

Tony eventually blinked up at Ducky to see what his reaction was. He supposed he expected to find the doctor recoiling away from the crazy but if anything it was worse. All he saw was naked pity.

"My dear boy…." Ducky reached over, but Tony was already up and out of the room before the doctor could react further. He ignored the shooting pain that screamed down his leg at the sudden movement and slammed the bathroom door behind him.

Fuck.

It should have felt better to get all that crap out, but it didn't. He ran the cold tap in the sink and splashed his face as Ducky frantically knocked on the door.

"Anthony, please open the door."

Bang, bang.

"_Tony._"

He wiped his face on an already-crumpled and damp towel he found on the floor and leant his head against the door. He wanted to just slide down onto the floor but he doubted he'd be able to get up on his own so he just shut his eyes and tried to slow his breathing.

_In…out….in…out…in….out._

See, it was easy.

_In…out…in…out._

He could feel himself getting calmer again.

"Tony!"

Ducky sounded all panicky, and Tony wondered how long he'd been in there getting himself together. He felt strange, detached. The morphine was making its presence known again and the lightheaded feeling was back but that could have been down to all the heavy breathing.

"_Tony_…please unlock the door." Again a hand hammered on the door.

He frowned at the constant knocking at the door then smiled wryly, suddenly realizing why Ducky was so intent to get into his bathroom—and he doubted it was the need to pee.

After the spectacular show of emotional verbal diarrhea he'd just given Duck, the poor guy probably thought he had dismantled his razor and was now slowly bleeding out on the floor.

He opened the door and with his head down made for his bedroom with the Scotsman following closely on his heels.

"Anthony…"

But he didn't let Ducky finish his sentence. He sat down heavily on his bed and winced as his hip complained.

"I'm fine Duck. To be honest I'm just feeling a little embarrassed."

Ducky stared back at him with a look that said he wasn't convinced.

"Look, seriously, I'm okay. It's been a truly shitty day, I'm over tired, and just being dramatic. You know how painkillers make me loopy and I haven't eaten today."

Yup, he was clearly doing a great job of diffusing the situation by rambling like an idiot. Ducky was looking at him with a bemused expression and Tony wasn't sure if the man wanted to zap him with a stun gun or give him a hug.

He gave Ducky a smile, hoping that it would convince him that everything was okay now. See… he was happy and everything was okay with the world.

"All I want to do now is crawl into bed and forget today happened."

Tony lay back on his bed and pulled his pillow tight around his head. Ducky nodded finally.

"I think sleep would be advisable. When was the last time you had a decent night's sleep, Anthony?"

Tony decided that now was a good time to play the morphine card and shut his eyes ignoring the question. But maybe he wasn't strictly playing possum, because the last thing he remembered before he fell sound asleep was a blanket being tucked around him and the door shutting gently as Ducky crept out of the room.

* * *

Ducky puttered around the kitchen, washing the few dishes that sat in the sink, giving himself time to think before he called Jethro.

They had all been worried about Tony for a time. It was hard not to notice such a bright light getting dimmer each day.

After what he'd just witnessed, it was clear that Anthony wasn't just going through a jaded period in his life as everyone did from time to time. The young man was obviously teetering on the cusp of a breakdown, if not already sliding down the rabbit hole and on reflection, Ducky kicked himself for not seeing it coming.

Tony was the type of agent that threw himself into every case. It was easy to think of him as a slacker because that was the image he always portrayed but the security tapes showed him time and time again sitting at his desk until the early hours of the morning. Abby had actually made a chart showing all the extra hours he put in to enlighten McGee and Ziva when they moaned about how little work Tony did compared to them. Both had been shocked, but that was the thing about Tony. He was a pure enigma. What you saw was most definitely not what you got. The real man was far more complex than he liked people to see.

And that was part of the problem.

Tony had always appeared to be unaffected by the many stressful events working for the federal government threw at him, but from what he'd just heard it was clear that Tony had just been internalizing every bad case, every stressful episode, every slight and every snide comment. Sadly a person could only hide from their demons for so long before it all came rushing to back to the fore.

It happened to a lot of agents. Jethro himself had his own episode which had resulted in his six months of 'retirement' and that's what irritated Ducky. How could the man not see the same thing was happening to his second-in-command sooner?

He opened the door to Tony's bedroom and watched him sleep for several minutes before he sighed to himself and reached for his cell phone.

It rung only once before the call was answered the other end.

"How is he?" Jethro ground out with no preamble. He heard the sound of walking and he could imagine his friend quickly exiting the bullpen to get some privacy.

Ducky shut the door to the bedroom and made for the couch. He suddenly felt every one of his years.

"Not good Jethro, Anthony is clearly emotionally, physically and mentally exhausted,' Ducky sighed and paused before continuing. ' And I very much fear it's worse than we both suspected."

The silence on the other end spoke volumes.

**TBC**

**Please review. I do so love hearing from you all. xx**


	6. Chapter 6

Once again, a thank you to all who reviewed and pm'd me with gentle prods and encouragement. Love you chaps!

Thanks to **Willwork4dean** for her sound beta work.

* * *

**Convincing the World He Didn't Exist**

_Chapter 6_

Gibbs sat at his kitchen table and swilled the bourbon around and around in his glass before taking a deep mouthful. He sucked the fiery liquid through his teeth several times before he finally swallowed.

He knew it was wrong to be thankful that Tony had busted his hip but the injury solved a hell of a lot of problems. It certainly gave him some much-needed wiggle room with Vance. As far as the director was concerned the only story was that DiNozzo was out for ten weeks for rest and recuperation—doctor's orders.

Tony's badge and gun may be locked safely in Gibbs' drawer but that was as far as it went.

Nothing official, and that's how he wanted to keep it if possible.

If the director thought that the length of time off was a little excessive he didn't say. There wasn't much he could do considering it was a work-related injury, plus he couldn't argue with the detailed report from Ducky and the doctor who treated Tony at the hospital. Gibbs was proud of the collusion between the two medics. Duck had obviously argued a good case. The old Scot could be persuasive when he wanted, and the accent worked wonders. While a fractured hip wasn't pleasant by any means, ten weeks out of the office was stretching it. For all Tony's apparent slacking throughout the years he never took sick leave. He had only taken two weeks when he had the plague and then he had to be pushed into it.

Gibbs had also done a little creative reporting himself and made sure that Ziva and McGee's matched his version of events. He'd been proud of them both and their unflinching agreement to bend the truth. He knew Ziva would have no problem with lying on a report but McGee surprised him by not even blinking at the request. The anal, strictly-by-the-book boy was growing up, that's for sure. Hell, it was times like these he realized just how proud of his team he was.

After dealing with Vance, he'd called a meeting in autopsy with the whole team, Palmer and Abby included, because Duck had convinced him that they needed all hands on deck. He kept things brief and to the point. DiNozzo would need their help so they were all going to pitch in. All of them were going to make sure that they were at Tony's beck and call 24/7 for the foreseeable future whether he liked it or not.

He'd received solemn nods from everyone except Palmer, who'd looked perplexed.

The kid had started to argue that his mother had really managed just fine when she'd fallen off a chair while hanging Christmas decorations a few years ago, so a hairline fracture wouldn't be that debilitating for a young, healthy man like Tony.

It had only taken one glare and a hard arm punch from Abby to bring about a muttered but still confused agreement. Gibbs didn't want to have to spell it out. The rest of the team understood that it wasn't about helping Tony do the household chores. This was about making sure Tony didn't do something stupid and reckless when he wasn't capable of thinking rationally.

Maybe he was overreacting but right now his gut was telling him otherwise. He'd been there, he knew.

Gibbs sure as hell wasn't going to let DiNozzo sit alone in his apartment with only his thoughts for company right now, and if it took each of them to stay with him until the dark clouds lifted, then that's what they'd do.

His personal ethos was a constant in his life—you never left a man behind.

* * *

Tony pulled at the blanket that had wound tightly around his body like a python. He threw the offending item onto the floor and sat up.

He felt hot and irritable, his head throbbed and he felt hung-over. Had he had a bender last night? He couldn't remember. The fact that he was sleeping fully dressed did nothing to dispel that theory. He peered at his clock.

3 A.M.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept until the early hours of the morning.

It all came rushing back to him like a car wreck the moment he stood up and his hip yelled its displeasure at the sudden movement. He rubbed his forehead and silently cursed as fragments of the whiney diatribe he'd made to Ducky about his life filtered through to his bleary consciousness.

Great. Duck must have loved having to listen to that.

What the hell was wrong with him that he felt the need to share that needy shit with someone who was joined at the hip with his fucking boss— the same boss who'd just pulled his badge because he was a screw up.

Talk about giving someone enough rope.

He'd just handed Gibbs a big fat gift topped off with a nice shiny bow.

If Gibbs hadn't made a final decision about his position on the team before, he sure as hell would after he talked to Ducky.

Tony limped out of his bedroom to the bathroom. He was sure he had come home from the hospital with a set of crutches but it seemed like too much effort to find the damn things.

He filled a glass with water and drunk it down in one. He pulled open his medicine cabinet to find something to dull the pain and cursed again. The shelves were usually filled with old prescriptions from his many injuries on the job, but he'd had a 'relationship' with a nurse at the beginning of the year and she'd cleared out all his outdated medicines. Apart from a half empty bottle of cough syrup and a dented packet of Band-Aids, all he found was dust and some dental floss. He was sure there had been a couple of newish bottles of Vicodine in there that had managed to survive the cut.

He went in search of the drugs he'd been sent home with. Duck must have left them somewhere for him. As he padded into his den he almost jumped six foot in the air when a disembodied hand flopped over the top of the couch next to where he stood. He peered into the gloom and saw McGee sound asleep and snoring softly.

McGee?

What the hell was McGee doing asleep on his couch at 3 A.M. on a school night?

There was only one explanation for this unexpected and unconventional sleepover and it left a bad taste in his mouth.

He clenched his jaw and shut his eyes briefly.

Great.

So now to add insult to injury, he apparently needed a babysitter.

He saw his pain meds on the table next to McGee with two tablets neatly laid out next to a glass of water ready for his next dose.

My, wasn't Probie the little boy scout.

He reached over to scoop up the tablets and dry swallowed them, ignoring the bitterness as they stuck in his throat—but then a lot of things about this situation stuck in his throat. Obviously the general consensus was that he couldn't be trusted to sit the right way on the toilet seat without fucking up right now.

That pissed him off.

He carefully picked up McGee's jacket from its neat pile on the floor and checked the pockets.

Bingo.

Tony paused and held his breath as McGee grunted and rolled over.

He pulled out the two missing vials of Vicodine and pocketed them along with the codeine on the table.

As he made his way back to the bedroom he wondered idly what else McGee had squirreled away. He snorted to himself—he could just imagine Duck giving them all a lecture on sharp objects and fragile mental states.

Jesus, so he might have inadvertently said things last night that may have sounded dramatic but seriously, that really didn't mean he was going to off himself. Hell, he often spent many a happy hour at work fantasizing about punching the smug smile off Vance's face but that didn't mean he was actually going to do it.

Everyone went through phases in their lives where oblivion seemed attractive and they were lying if they said different.

Tony opened his closet and pulled out a jacket. The jacket had followed him from apartment to apartment for years. The actual item of clothing had changed but the sentiment behind it hadn't. Stuffed in the pockets was an envelope filled with cash. Quite a lot of cash actually, plus several fake IDs, driver's licenses, and passports from his undercover work that technically he should have handed in—but these things tended to get lost, didn't they?

Call him paranoid but when you'd infiltrated the mob a few times it paid to be a little cautious, so he always kept the jacket handy. You never knew when it might be prudent to disappear.

He stuffed some clothes into a gym bag and looked around to see if he'd missed anything.

He left his wallet and phone on the end of his bed and turned out the light.

Tony hated having to do this to McGee, but as he slipped out of the apartment he couldn't help but feel this was divine justice for all the times Tim had smugly looked down his nose at him and implied he was the better agent.

Yeah, right.

There was no way he'd have been able to jump ship if it had been Ziva asleep on his couch. She would have been alert at the first sound of movement from his bedroom. McGee may be a wiz on the ol' computer but the inbuilt instincts that every good agent should have were still practically nonexistent. McGee obviously hadn't been in the situation where sleeping so soundly was liable to get you killed.

Tony picked up one of the crutches, quietly shut the door, and walked to the elevator.

He was tired of the whole shooting match.

He wasn't even sure who he was these days.

Tony DiNozzo, ex-cop

Tony DiNozzo, federal agent—or should that be ex-federal agent?

Tony DiNozzo, Gibbs' faithful lapdog.

Tony DiNozzo, the cheerful schmuck who just bent over to let everybody shaft him time and time again.

He was done.

* * *

"Gibbs." The voice barked on the other end of the phone.

McGee felt sick.

"Um…boss, he's gone."

"What?"

Tim bit his lip, still feeling the panic race through his body when he'd walked into Tony's empty bedroom and found the closet open and several hangers scattered on the floor.

Gibbs was seriously going to kill him

"I woke up, and Tony wasn't here, boss." He swallowed hard. "I don't think….I mean…he's gone and it looks like he's taken some clothes with him."

Tim held the phone away from his ear as his boss swore loudly. Maybe now wasn't the right time to mention Tony had also taken with him the tablets he'd removed from the medicine cabinet (because he'd promised Abby he'd do it) and now had enough Vicodine on him to kill a herd of elephants.

"Get your ass back here and run a damn trace on his phone," Gibbs yelled.

"Um, boss, he left his wallet and phone behind. As far as I can see he hasn't taken any cards with him, and I've checked with all the local cab companies and no one picked up from this address and his car is still parked at the yard."

McGee wasn't sure if he was expecting at least a modicum of praise for getting the ball rolling in trying to find Tony, but Gibbs just swore once more and the line went abruptly dead in his hand.

He took one last look around the apartment. He wasn't sure why. Maybe he expected Tony to jump out from a cupboard and yell 'Surprise!' as if this was all some sort of game—but it wasn't.

It really wasn't.

McGee grabbed his bag and locked the door behind him and dragged his body down to his car, trying to put off the inevitable.

He knew was going to be _persona non grata_ when he got back to the office. Ziva would literally want to kill him, Abby would punch the living daylights out of him, Ducky would just look at him with a patient understanding that would hurt probably a lot more than than Abby's fists ...and Gibbs would just alternate between yelling at him and ignoring him.

And the worse thing would be that, sadly, the one person who would have diluted the situation with his jokes and overt ribbing was the one person he'd managed to lose.

* * *

Abby watched as Gibbs threw his phone across her lab. It shattered into pieces as it bounced across the floor.

She walked over and silently picked up Bert, hugging him tightly to her chest.

She hated this. It had been two weeks and they still hadn't found Tony.

Gibbs started to jab his finger into Tim's chest. Ziva was waving her arms around and pacing. Everybody was yelling and talking over each other.

Abby walked away and quietly shut herself in her office, locking the door behind her, and pulled down all the blinds. She pressed play on her stereo and tried to drown out the sounds as Gibbs shouted at Timmy and Ziva. The loud frenetic sound of Gogol Bordello filled the air but it wasn't enough. She leaped up from her chair and turned the volume up as high as it would go.

The noise was deafening as the sound waves bounced off the walls of the tiny office. The glass vibrated as the bass line boomed.

She slid down onto the floor and hugged Bert tighter.

This wasn't right. They weren't supposed to be like this.

Why were they so _angry_ with each other?

Her extended family was falling apart, and she hated it.

She could feel her throat ache and she sniffed and shut her eyes to try to stop the tears falling, but she couldn't hold them back.

She'd cried a lot the past two weeks.

She missed him.

She missed him so much.

She could feel hot fat tears snake down her face and she let them flow even though she knew she'd end up looking like Alice Cooper..

The door rattled, and someone rapped their knuckles hard on the glass.

"_Abby!_" Gibbs yelled over the music. "_Abby, open the door_."

She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

"_Abs, come on. Open up_."

She stood up and opened the door.

Gibbs rushed the room and turned down her music.

"I've told you all before...you've got to stop yelling at each other! How do you think that would make Tony feel to know you are all fighting over him?" She stomped her foot. "It's just not nice, Gibbs, and when Tony comes back..."

Her voice broke when she said his name, and suddenly she was in Gibbs' arms and he was gently stroking her hair.

"I'm sorry, Abs. I'm sorry." His voice was soft now. "We'll find him, I promise."

She sniffed several times and leaned into the comforting male warmth Gibbs gave off.

She wanted to believe him. She really did. Gibbs was Gibbs and he didn't make empty promises, but they had nothing. Two weeks of searching, and they were no further than they'd been fourteen days ago.

Tony had been seen hitch-hiking a mile from his apartment. They had finally managed to trace a nervous orthopedic shoe salesman who admitted that he'd picked up Tony that night and given him a ride to a rest stop out of town. Tony was last seen talking to a truck driver then ....nothing.

He hadn't used his bank account. They had no phone to trace. They'd discreetly worked their way through his little black book but not one person listed had heard from him.

He had simply vanished into thin air.

And that's what was so frustrating. Tony knew all the tricks they used to trace people and he was avoiding leaving any crumbs for them to follow.

Abby felt fresh tears fall and she grabbed at Gibbs jacket.

Why was he trying so hard not to be found?

She couldn't help but feel hurt that he hadn't made any attempt to contact her. They had always been close and they messaged and texted each other constantly, even if they'd only seen each other an hour before.

She seriously loved Tony.

He was one of the few male friends she'd never 'accidentally' slept with.

They'd come close several times throughout the years, but surprisingly it was always Tony that pulled back from the actual deed. He always joked it was his fear of getting castrated by Gibbs that always killed the moment, but she suspected it was more than that. And she actually felt quite honored to be one of the few women in Washington that he hadn't slept with…. even though she was kind of intrigued as to what it would be like.

Because they'd never danced the horizontal tango they had none of that messy awkwardness or jealousy to deal with. Timmy still got territorial over her and although it was sweet… it also drove her crazy. One drunken fumble did not count as a relationship. Tony would have understood that in a way Tim never could.

So when he'd gone missing she'd been confident he would contact her, but so far there had been silence from all methods of communication.

That scared her.

He was alone and he was hurting and had no one around him to hug him and make him see just how much they loved him.

"Find him, Gibbs. You've got to find him," she sobbed.

"I know, Abs, and I will." Gibbs whispered into her hair.

* * *

Ziva splashed her face with water and grabbed several paper towels from the dispenser. The last one stuck and she pulled hard, ripping the blue paper into tiny shreds.

Suddenly, she found herself hitting the metal casing over and over again until her hands hurt and the unit came crashing down off the wall.

She stared at the mangled dispenser at her feet and felt slightly better. The tight knots in her muscles were still there but punching the hell out of an inanimate object felt good.

She felt so useless.

She could not understand why Tony would do something like this.

For all his irritating ways he was a good friend. Someone she had grown to care for very much, even though the first time they'd met every instinct told her that he was trouble.

He was smart when he wasn't playing the fool.

He was surprisingly compassionate. She still hadn't forgotten him faking radiation poisoning and suffering through a barrage of tests just so she could spend time with a dying man.

He was also a very competent investigator when he wanted to be, but it was his undercover work that impressed her most. He kept his cool in situations that would make lesser men falter. She had seen that first hand. He would actually make a good Mossad agent—not that she would ever tell him that.

But the one thing that had always stuck her about Tony…he was strong.

She had never expected to see him fall apart. She'd seen it happen many, many times—the job they did was not easy—but she always thought Tony was immune from the stresses of the job because he never seemed to let anything get to him.

He always had a smile on his face and a smart answer ready.

And that's what she couldn't handle.

She could cope with over-confident, irritating, flirting Tony.

But she found herself drawing away from him over the past months. She knew she had to distance herself from the vulnerable man he'd become, because she wasn't sure how to handle that. She had never been good with such things and she knew she had let him down.

That's what made her so angry with herself because she knew that if the shoe had been on the other foot, Tony would have been there for her.

She stepped over the broken dispenser and squared her shoulders.

She would not let anyone know just how much she missed having Tony around.

She hated herself for getting too close.

* * *

Tony accepted the towels from the maid and gave her a smile. She never said a word to him, just nodded shyly and grabbed the dirty linen, then moved on to the next room. He shut the door and threw the towels down on his bed.

It was a joke really. He was sure the towels he'd given had actually been cleaner than the ones he'd just received, but he didn't expect much from the cheap, rent-by-the-month room in a rundown motel in a less-than-salubrious part of Leesburg.

Tony stretched back out on the bed and picked up his glass and refilled from the bottle on the floor. He drained the glass and looked around his new home. The room had probably last been decorated in the Seventies—shit brown clashed with lurid yellows and bright oranges, each color swirling into the next like a bad LSD trip.

The room smelt of stale sweat, old socks, and a curious blend of cheap perfume and disinfectant. The bathroom was dank, and the shower curtain was a giant Rorschach test picked out in mold.

The so-called air conditioning was about as useful as a hand fan cooling the Gobi desert, and every night a legion of roaches crawled out from the rusty grille and partied on every surface.

The mattress on the bed was a whole eco system in itself, and the many ominous stains would have kept Abby happily analyzing for months. In fact, the whole place looked like a crime scene. But Tony felt strangely contented. The room had become as comforting and embracing as the womb to him.

The transient nature of the place and it occupants suited him. Everyone seemed to have a story and the orca-fat, gossipy owner of the motel regaled him with a brief history of each when he'd put down what was laughingly called a security deposit. Close proximity had forced him to interact with his immediate neighbours, but on the whole they all mostly kept themselves to themselves.

In the room next to him was a guy called Bill who was convinced Jim Morrison was sending him message through his music. Tony went to sleep to the sound of 'Riders in the Storm' and often awoke to 'L.A Woman'. Apparently Bill used to be a teacher in a high school until his increasingly strange behaviour made the principal more than a little edgy and he'd been let go, leaving him with the impression that everyone in a position of authority was out to get him. The vast amounts of dope he smoked probably did nothing for his advanced state of paranoia. The smell of skunk seeping out from under his door was enough to get you high from just passing.

Next to Bill was Sandy, a careworn and buxom woman in her sixties who wore her cosmetics like war paint and 'entertained' a steady stream of men day and night.

The far side of him was Samuel, an old black guy and ex-con who'd spent the best part of his life behind bars due to a fondness for robbing convenience stores to fund his then-active drug addiction. Now he was just a tired old man who lived with his demons. He'd stop Tony when he saw him to talk about basketball and old movies but their conversations never crossed over into anything remotely personal.

Lastly on his floor there was Andrea, a thin and nervous brunette with sad eyes and a drinking habit. Her story, he'd learnt, was pretty tragic and told with all the delight of tabloid newspaper exposé by the owner of the motel. During a long and drawn-out divorce battle, her husband had taken their two kids, driven to a nearby park, then attached a hosepipe to the car, ensuring that she would never gain custody.

Andrea had turned up at Tony's door his second night with a bottle of cheap vodka. He'd been pretty much catatonic, just wanting to crash and not think or do anything, but something about the look in her eyes made him step aside and let her in. They sat and drank in silence, and the strange thing was it didn't seem unusual to him even, though it went against his whole personality to be quiet. For once it felt good not to have to fill the silence, not to have to make the effort to be witty and the life and soul of the party.

Half a bottle in, and they moved it onto the bed, pulling each other's clothes off and kissing until they were breathless. The sex had been raw and explosive but even he had been shocked when she moved on from biting and scratching to slapping and punching him, and he felt himself getting rougher and rougher with her.

But even though it shouldn't have….it felt right.

She bit until she drew blood, and her long nails raked his back and dug into his ass, making him hiss. They'd fed off each other's reactions with things getting wilder and wilder. With each thrust his hip protested. It felt like he was being stabbed with a red-hot poker repeatedly, but the added pain had felt kind of cathartic to him.

His orgasm when it had come had been explosive, and he'd collapsed onto her gasping for air. They had fallen asleep tangled in each other's arms, but when the morning came he'd found himself alone.

The following night she had turned up and they had repeated the whole experience, right down to the not talking and her leaving before the sun came up.

And each night since then they had fallen into the same routine of rough sex and flagellation.

He spent his days drinking himself into oblivion and consuming enough pain meds to make himself feel comfortably numb, eating only when his gut started to ache with the emptiness. But each night when she knocked on his door, he felt his blood pump and his heart race.

The only time he felt alive was when he was when he was having sex with her. He wasn't sure who was punishing whom. What was clear was that they were both taking their frustrations out on each other and it was all pretty broken and wrong.

But then, there was nothing about his life recently that wasn't pretty fucked up.

Tony shut his eyes and listened to the sounds of the traffic on the freeway. He could hear Bill in the next room shuffling around talking to himself.

He felt like he'd found his spiritual home. For once he didn't feel like he was the biggest screw up. They were all pretty much on a par with each other.

He picked up the bottle and refilled his glass again.

It actually felt good for a change not to have to live up to anyone's expectations.

** TBC**

**Thanks for reading. Speak to me and I'll love you forever. ;)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Once again, a huge spangly thank you to all who are following and reviewing this fic. I love you all. Reading your comments seriously makes my day. xx**

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_Chapter 7_

It was the end of yet another frustrating day and still there was no sign of DiNozzo.

Gibbs sat in front of his computer and checked his emails to see if any of the feelers McGee had put out on Tony's aliases had produced fruit.

Nothing.

He shut down his screen and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck to try and ease the knots gathered there. It was late. He looked across at the empty bullpens around him. He got up and turned off his desk lamp.

Time to head home.

As much as it galled him, Gibbs found himself conflicted by the knowledge that they were still no further forward in their search. On the one hand he couldn't help but feel more than a little proud that Tony was still managing to elude them. It just proved what he'd known all along and that was DiNozzo was a damn fine agent—but fighting with that pride was also anger that they couldn't get a damn trace. A man shouldn't be able to vanish in this day and age of surveillance cameras and Big Brother watching every move you made.

Underneath all the pride and frustration was also the profound relief that no body had been fished out of the Potomac either.

Nope, his gut told him that DiNozzo was out there somewhere. He just didn't want to be found yet.

As much as it had pissed him off, Gibbs understood why Tony had run. When you got that low your whole perception of the people close to you got skewed. Trust, love and friendship all went out the window. He figured Tony finding McGee in his flat had probably been the final straw. He should have known that Tony was too stubborn to accept help but he'd make that call again if he had to. It had felt right even if it had backfired

Duck had argued that if he had been on hand that night then maybe things would have turned out differently but Gibbs knew that wasn't true. Chances were he would have only made things worse. He wasn't good with the touchy-feely stuff, never had been. Several wives could testify to the fact. He tried but it just wasn't in his nature. As much as he wanted to help Tony, he knew that his concern would have come across as anger, his frustration at not being able to help as disappointment. That's why he'd distanced himself. Again, he'd still make the same call.

In a way maybe it was a good thing, DiNozzo running like he had. Maybe it meant that he still had some fire in his belly, still had some fight left.

The kid could come back from the brink, he knew it. Sometimes time and space away from everything could be a great leveler.

He knew that first hand. He'd needed Mexico, needed the distance it gave.

But at least when he'd run, he'd gone to stay with someone who had his back. DiNozzo had no one, and that wasn't right. That is what worried him. Intrinsically, Tony was a social animal. He needed people around him. He fed off the attention, needed that distraction. Tony being on his own was like putting a suspect in solitary. Too much time to think was not a good thing for someone who carried as much baggage as Tony.

So they continued to work dual cases. It was business as usual at NCIS but the real agenda—the only agenda—was to try and get a damn lead on DiNozzo without Vance finding out about it. He'd used every contact he'd made throughout the years. Hell, he'd even had Franks on the case, reminding his old boss that he still owed DiNozzo for cold-cocking him with a gun and knocking him out, but so far even Mike had no luck.

While he understood why DiNozzo had left … it didn't mean he had to like or accept it.

He'd find him if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

Tony heaved and heaved over the toilet bowl even though his stomach had ceased giving up anything ten minutes before. Now his body just shook as spasm after spasm wracked his body. His hands clasped the rim as he choked and gasped, the acrid taste of bile burning his throat.

Kneeling to the porcelain God in his bathroom had become a predictable part of his morning routine.

He rested his forehead against his arm and shut his eyes as the waves of nausea finally eased. He waited, sitting still for several minutes before he slowly lifted his head in case his gut was getting ready for round two.

He breathed deeply in relief when his stomach didn't rebel and spat several timed into the bowl. He flushed and watched as the evidence his previous nights excesses swirled down the pan. He got up and stumbled to the sink on shaky legs and splashed cold water on his face several times.

Tony looked at himself in the mirror.

He was starting not to recognize the person staring back at him.

Any trace of tan was gone. Under his sunken eyes were deep smudges of black. His skin looked greasy and unhealthy. He reached a hand up and rubbed his chin. The stubble on his face was fast becoming a messy beard. He moved closer to the glass. He had a split lip and a bruise on his cheek that hadn't been there yesterday.

He traced a finger across his lip. He couldn't remember much of last night but he stank of stale sweat and sex so it didn't take much to deduce what had happened.

He shut his eyes and sighed as flashes of the night zigzagged through his brain, rutting like dogs on the cheap nylon carpet. He looked down at his legs and saw livid friction burns on each knee.

Dammit.

He felt shame over what he was doing with Andrea. Sleeping with a woman who clearly had major physiological problems for his own gratification should have gone against all his moral codes. But each night he succumbed—even though when a brief window of lucidity struck each morning he swore to himself he wouldn't.

Recently she had taken to goading and begging him to hit her, striking him harder and harder to get a reaction from him. She bore perfect marks of his fingers on her hips and wrists, he wouldn't deny that, but that was as far as he went. It made him feel sick to think that he'd given her the impression that he was the type of man who would hit a woman.

All his life he'd known that the DiNozzo genes were far from pristine—hell, he was aware he was fast fulfilling the addiction side of his heritage with great aplomb—but he'd never hit a woman in anger and he wasn't about to start now. He was many things, but he wasn't that man. He had too many memories of the sound of fist against flesh for him to ever want to claim that nasty little habit as an inheritance.

But even though he could claim the higher moral ground on that one point he wasn't exactly proud of himself.

He knew he was a mess.

He drank to forget and he took pills to anesthetize what the drink didn't obliterate.

He started the day with a stiff drink and continued from there.

The breakfast of a consummate fuck up.

As he stepped under the shower he wondered what his old team would say if they saw him now. He thought they'd be impressed at how much he'd achieved in such a short space of time, from poster boy for GQ to crack chic in less than four weeks. He washed his hair with a cheap bar of soap and rinsed away the suds.

He got out and rubbed a towel over his torso and head then dropped the damp square onto the floor. The shower had chased away the cobwebs but now he felt the shakes starting.

Great.

He opened the vial of Vicodine and shook a couple into his palm. He poured the dregs of last nights whisky from one glass to join the remains in the other and tossed the tablets into his mouth and swallowed.

He pulled on a pair of jeans he grabbed off the floor and zipped up. He noticed that they hung low on his hips now. He shrugged, wasn't like he couldn't afford to loose a bit of weight. He found his tee under the bed and yanked it over his head. He really needed to find a laundry, his clothes had that stiff, greasy quality about them but considering he stunk of carbolic soap, he was hardly the pinnacle of sartorial elegance.

He felt calmer as the tablets knocked the edges off the day.

He put his boots on and grabbed his jacket. Tony shut the door behind him and started to walk.

* * *

Abby stomped her way into the bullpen with her arms full. She dumped the pile onto Ziva's desk and spun around.

Gibbs couldn't help but smile when he saw the tee she was wearing over her short frilled dress.

"What the hell are you wearing, Abs?"

She beamed and held out the bottom of the tee and spun around again.

"It's my Tony-tee. I made them last night. I've decided to be pro-active about this situation." She swooped and handed them each a wrapped parcel complete with bows and ribbons. "So I made one for each of you. I figured that if we all wear them then we'd be sending good vibes Tony's way and he'd know we were thinking of him."

Gibbs ripped open his bundle and shook his head. DiNozzo's face grinned out from the transfer in the center of the tee.

McGee was grimacing as he held his present up in front of him.

"Um, Abby…as much as I miss Tony….um….. I mean the girls down in evidence still think I'm gay thanks to him and wearing a tee with another mans face on my chest isn't going to help quash that rumor…"

"Tiiiim…. you've got to! You've all got to!" Abby pouted. "Ducky's wearing his under his scrubs…so is Jimmy…"

Ziva held her tee up and winced.

Gibbs stood and kissed Abby on the top of her head.

"How about we compromise and wear them at home in the evenings."

"But Gibbs!"

McGee and Ziva both sent him pleading looks.

"No, Abs." Gibbs tried to look stern but Abby was just to damn endearing.

Abby narrowed her eyes.

"Okay buster, but you all better wear them at night."

"Absolutely," McGee nodded emphatically, looking relieved.

"I'll wear mine to bed." Ziva confirmed.

"DiNozzo will just love that Ziva." Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"No one must ever tell him!" Ziva spluttered.

McGee snorted and filed that away to tell Tony.

Gibbs rolled his tee up and put it in his drawer.

"Back to work people." He turned Abby around and aimed her in the direction of the elevator.

"Promise me you'll wear it Gibbs…"

"I promise I'll take it home tonight." Evasive but necessary. As much as he missed having DiNozzo around wearing a tee with his face on was not going to happen.

Abby didn't seem to notice and she bounced off happily.

He sat down behind his desk and slid his glasses onto his face, he shared an amused look with Ziva and McGee.

He watched as McGee carefully folded his shirt and put it in his backpack.

With that one crazy episode Abby had somehow helped to dispel a lot of the tension that had dogged them for weeks.

Something was going to happen soon, he could feel it in his gut.

* * *

Tony didn't often venture out from the motel but he made the walk into town twice every week to get supplies. Luckily he'd learned early on the liquor store delivered to the motel. For a tip the booze would magically come to you. They probably made more money from their floor than from passing trade anyway.

He kept inside because he was too lethargic to do much else, he was usually too damn bombed to walk, but mainly he kept out of sight because was paranoid.

He knew that Gibbs would be looking for him. There was no way that his boss would leave him be.

He would become the man's new white whale.

It wasn't the first time he'd compared Gibbs to Captain Ahab but the analogy was true. The guy didn't know when to give up. It was a Marine thing.

Gibbs would want to find him if only to harpoon his ass for not following orders.

Tony walked along, trying not to attract any attention but it didn't always work that way. The week before he'd been rolled in broad daylight by a punk-ass teen with a knife. He guessed that he looked like a good target, a typical shaky bum who wouldn't fight back. The look on the kids face had been a picture that day, his reactions hadn't been as sharp as they could have been but he'd still managed to quickly twist the kid's arm around his back and slam him up against a brick wall. An ear-piercing scream had filled the air as he'd twisted hard. He felt the punk's wrist snap—he hadn't been going for that, but he was cranky and whatever worked. The bastard had run off clutching his broken arm to his chest, probably wondering what the hell had just happened.

The last thing he'd wanted was to get involved with the local cops, but when he'd looked around no one was paying any attention. Eyes looked steadfastly away from where he stood like it was a competition in turning a blind eye. Usually that level of apathy seriously annoyed him but as he'd walked away he couldn't help but feel relieved at the lack of public spirit he'd witnessed. People had given him a wide berth as he'd passed, and he'd been tempted to start muttering about little green aliens and the Kennedy assassination just to freak them out further.

That was the outskirts of Leesburg and one of the reasons he'd chosen it. You could disappear because no one gave a rat's ass about anything… they were too busy surviving.

He could understand that.

He made his way into the cut-price market and filled his basket with junk food. He was surviving on a diet of crackers, chips and Poptarts. Quick easy stuff he could eat without thinking. Not healthy, but seeing as he was mainlining whisky and vodka every day, getting scurvy was the least of his worries. He paid and bagged his purchases, stopping to smile at the pretty checkout girl. She quickly looked away with a look of horrified disgust on her face. Damn. He shrugged and limped away with his tail between his legs.

His hip still ached but it wasn't as bad as it had been. Even with the punishment he put it under each night, the fact that he generally did nothing during the day meant it seemed to be healing. He pulled a can of energy drink out of his bag and drank as he walked. He had a killer headache that the Vicodine had done nothing to shift, and his stomach growled. He'd been up for less than two hours but all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed.

He crushed the can in his hand and tossed it in the trash. He was busy digging around in his bag for the roll of antacid tablets when he bumped into someone on the sidewalk.

Tony mumbled an apology and looked up. He saw the black suit before anything else.

His heart leapt up to his throat.

He didn't stop and walked away as casually as he could, allowing himself to get swallowed up by the other people on the sidewalk.

Maybe he had got away with it. He'd only held eye contact for a second.

Often you didn't see something that was out of context.

He heard his name being called.

Fuck.

He didn't check to see if he was being followed—he just moved, fast.

Back at the motel he threw the bag of groceries across the room and started to pace.

He knew he should be leaving but he couldn't think rationally.

This was not happening.

* * *

Gibbs was in the line at his coffee shop when his cell rung.

He answered without looking at the display, his mind on the bean.

"Gibbs."

"I think I'm about to become your favorite person…"

He moved up to the counter.

"Large coffee….strong." He gave his usual order. "What do you want Fornell?"

"You need to get your ass to Leesburg ASAP. I'm pretty sure I've just seen DiNutso…."

**TBC**

**Please talk to me. I get lonely! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

I'm giving a big gold star to all that have reviewed and mailed me. Thanks darlings, you do make my day. I just love reading your comments. xx

Note: Shhhh....I've changed the location in this story due to my stupidity and lack of US geography. Strike Pittsburgh from your memories...Tony is now in Leesburg not that it matters a whole lot where this happens really but..... :)

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 8**

They made it over to Leesburg in record time. McGee looked decidedly green and Ziva left fingernail prints in the dash but neither complained.

Fornell met them at a diner on the main stretch.

"You sure it was him, Tobias?" Gibbs asked.

"Again, yes, Jethro. He damn near knocked me off my feet, and in case you've forgotten observation is kind of a big part of what we do for a living. He looked like shit but it was him." Fornell took a bite out of his club sandwich.

"So how the hell did you manage to lose him then?" Gibbs growled.

"Hey, we're on the tail of a group of New Order nutjobs who've purchased enough fertilizer to blow up Washington, Jethro. That kind of takes precedence." Fornell wiped his mouth. "And seeing as you wanted this kept under wraps, Sacks would have got a little suspicious if I'd gone hightailing it down the street after your rogue agent."

"He's not a rogue agent, Tobias." Gibbs signaled for more coffee.

Ziva frowned. "You said he looked bad."

Fornell picked up his water. He paused before taking a long drink. He looked like he didn't like having to say it out loud.

"Let's just say DiNutso's looking less Italian gigolo and more like he's living rough out back of an Italian restaurant. And he's drinking. I could smell it."

Gibbs gripped his coffee cup tighter. Ziva and McGee locked eyes then looked away.

"Hey, DiNutso's tough. Whatever crap out he's having at the moment, he'll get through it."

"I hope so, Tobias," Gibbs sighed.

"How do we know he's even still here? He could have bolted again," McGee asked.

"I sent his details to the bus, taxi offices, train stations, and truck stops. No hits." Fornell took another huge bite of his sandwich and wiped his mouth.

"He's still here," Gibbs said.

"Your famous gut telling you that?" Fornell muttered through turkey and bacon.

"Yup." Gibbs stood up. "Let's canvass the hotels. He's here somewhere, we just gotta find him."

* * *

After seeing Fornell, Tony knew they would be coming and he knew that one of the first things they'd do was search the local motels and hotels.

He'd realized quickly that he didn't want to move on. He felt comfortable and just didn't have the energy to run again.

So he was left with one option, and that was to throw himself on the mercy of his landlady.

He'd made his way down to her office and found himself sitting in an overstuffed chair drinking coffee. He'd listened to her gossip before he managed to choke out the reason for his visit.

Okay, so he hadn't told the entire truth but he'd stayed as close as he could—as all good liars should—and let her fill in the gaps as she saw fit. He had handed her an envelope containing two hundred bucks to sweeten the deal.

Her eyes narrowed. He supposed that she was summing up whether he was a serial killer or rapist or just plain mad, bad and dangerous to know. He tried to reassure her that he wasn't hiding from any heinous crime.

He'd figured that the FBI wouldn't be getting involved as he hadn't done anything to warrant that—unless he was being framed for yet another murder—so the only badges that were going to be flashed around would be NCIS ones and that made things easier.

He implied rather than said outright that he was on the run from the Navy. He didn't have to do much acting. He found himself telling her that he didn't want to go back, couldn't go back. He rambled about dead bodies and bombs. She assumed he'd been talking about active combat, and he didn't correct her.

His landlady, Una, had been surprisingly empathic. He supposed that it wasn't often that one of her tenants had a mini freak-out in her den. She had puffed herself up like a mother hen and promised that he was safe with her. She enveloped him in her ample bosom for a bone-crushing hug and backrub. She smelt of cinnamon and cigarettes and he found himself leaning into her fleshy, comforting arms.

She apparently knew he'd been running from something the moment she'd set eyes on him. She figured it was a bad relationship but now it all made sense to her. Her father had come back from Korea with the same haunted look in his eyes.

She pressed the envelope back into his hands and sent him on his way.

He'd gone back to his room, feeling encouraged by the encounter but he still waited for the knock at his door—because if there was one thing his job had taught him, it was that often what people said and actually did were often two very different things.

He felt tense, wound tight and fit to burst with nervous energy.

He stalked like a caged animal. He punched the wall several times until his knuckles hurt. He was so pissed that out of everybody he could literally bump into it had to be fucking Fornell.

Why did this have to happen to him?

All he wanted was to be left alone. Was that too much to ask?

He was doing so well then he had to go and literally walk straight into the freaking FBI.

He picked up the cheap pine chair and threw it against the wall and swore several times in frustration. Bill in the room next door went quiet for the first time since he'd moved in. The music stopped and there was an eerie silence that actually unnerved him more then the constant stream of crazy mutterings.

Great, now he'd managed to scare his neighbor.

He swigged straight from the bottle as he alternated between walking the circuit of his room and watching the motel office out of his window.

He was officially as drunk as a skunk and that wasn't helping his mood any.

Only time would tell if his calculated risk had worked.

* * *

They'd each taken a section of the town and split up to cover as much ground as possible.

Three hours in and Gibbs officially did not want to see another hotel lobby or motel office again, yet he still kept on. He checked the last place of his list and moved onto the next one.

He parked and looked at the broken neon sign proclaiming he'd reached 'Shangri-La'. The motel was a complete hole. Leaves and old litter covered the grounds and the bright yellow doors leading to each of the rooms were probably supposed to look cheerful but the cracked and peeling paint just made him think of leprosy.

He pushed open the door of the office and waited.

He stood for a few minutes without success.

He craned his neck across the counter to see if he could see any movement in the rooms behind.

"Hey!" he shouted.

There was a little exclamation and the sound of rustling. A vast elderly woman wearing a lurid nylon dress and carpet slippers bustled through the door.

"Sorry, afternoon nap...when you get to my age you'll find it's a necessity, I'm afraid." She beamed at him.

"Ma'am, I'm already there. If it weren't for caffeine I think I'd be permanently napping." He smiled and flipped open his I.D. "Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. Can you tell me if you've seen this man?"

He pulled a picture of Tony out of his pocket and slid it across the counter to her. She made a big thing about finding her glasses and putting them on. Even so she held the photo up to her eyes and squinted.

"Nope, afraid not." She stared at the photo with a wicked glint in her eyes. "I'd remember that one if he walked in here…Mmmm, mmm…if I was thirty years younger."

Gibbs snorted at the image of this woman and DiNozzo. She looked straight at him.

"Should I be worried if he does show up?"

"No ma'am. Just give me a call if you see him." He handed her a card.

"Certainly, Mr. Gibbs. Anything to help the law enforcement. My nephew is a policeman too. Nathan Scoggings. Do you know him, honey? Tall, freckles…." She started a long and rambling description along with a family history.

He politely cut her off and thanked her. She was obviously as crazy as a bag of frogs.

He walked out, but looked back as he shut the door behind himself. He was pleased to see her pin his card up on the notice board. He suspected most people dumped his card as soon as his back was turned.

As he made his way to his car he saw one of the tenants exit his room. He watched the guy trot down the stairs. Gibbs met him at the bottom. He pulled the photo out again.

* * *

Tony stood hidden behind the curtains and watched.

As soon as the car pulled up he knew who was inside. Even so, when Gibbs got out and walked over to the office his breathing hitched and he could feel the panic start to build again.

He watched the office intently.

It was only as Gibbs made his way back to his car did he realize he hadn't been breathing. He let it out the breath he'd been holding and felt himself start to relax.

Then Gibbs paused.

"Get in the fucking car and go," he whispered.

Then he saw Gibbs walk over to the stairs and he realized that Samuel was making his way into town.

Shit, he hadn't even thought about that, he'd been so focused on getting Una to cover for him that he'd been blind sighted against all other threats.

Tony saw Gibbs approach Samuel, a photograph clearly in his hand.

This was it.

He was screwed.

He would never get rid of Gibbs no matter how much he told his boss to leave him the hell alone. Gibbs would just act like he was a puppy who'd just chewed a favourite pair of shoes.

Gibbs would be pissed, he'd be angry but above all he'd give him that cold-eyed stare that clearly had disappointment written all over it, like he'd known all along that Tony DiNozzo was a fuck-up.

Tony brought the bottle of whisky to his mouth and took a long drink. Might as well go whole hog and really enforce just how much of a loser he was if a confrontation with his boss was going to go down.

He watched as Gibbs talked, wishing he could read lips. Than the damndest thing happened, he saw Samuel shake his head as he looked at the photo.

There was no way that Samuel wouldn't have recognised him. Okay, he looked a little flaky now but still.

But what really got him was the fact that Gibbs totally bought it. Tony could tell by the way he nodded his head and looked annoyed that he'd just wasted his time. He'd seen that expression many, many times and it was very different from Gibbs' 'I'm being fed a steaming pile of shit' face.

Gibbs got back into his car and drove off with his usual grace and speed. The car disappeared around the bend of the road before Samuel turned and looked straight at his window. The old guy raised his hand and smiled conspiratorially.

Tony was stunned. He pulled back the curtain and raised his hand numbly in reply, not sure of what had just happened. Samuel nodded, turned and continued on his way.

Tony let the curtain fall and slumped down on the bed. He put his head in his hands.

He felt strangely humbled by the fact that two people he'd known for less than a month were clearly prepared to lie for him.

He couldn't understand that.

Why the hell would they do that?

He was nothing to them.

He was just another dumb fuck living the dream.

Tony groaned and lay back down on the bed.

He lent over and shook some more tablets into his hand. He couldn't remember how many he'd taken already that day but it seemed like he was chewing the little white tablets like candy. His leg was hurting like a bitch, probably the result of jogging back to the motel from town. Not the brightest thing to do on a busted hip. He swallowed them and chased the bitterness down with the whisky.

He sighed and drank some more.

Chasing oblivion again.

Alcohol was a bitch; it had made one parent manically depressed and the other overly aggressive. All in all, he thought he got the better end of the deal that he took after his mother. Usually he was a happy drunk when surrounded by people but solo drinking always made everything come crashing around his ears. Then again, considering the past few months had turned to shit, he didn't have a lot to feel chipper about anyway—so worrying about being a depressive drunk was probably a moot point.

He rested an arm across his eyes as an overwhelming feeling of weariness hit hard.

It was a huge anticlimax.

Now what?

Since arriving at the motel, all he'd been focused on was not being found.

Now that threat was gone all he was left with was an empty feeling in his gut that had nothing to do with the lack of food.

What little energy he had had all been channelled into keeping one step ahead of Gibbs, but now he'd outsmarted him it felt like a hollow victory.

He'd won.

And he was left with what? His wish to disappear had come true, but now he wasn't so sure he wanted his own company.

He was just a weak ass-hole who couldn't hack it in the grown up world he'd found himself in so he'd bailed…again.

His father had been right.

He was a waste of space.

He just felt so tired. He couldn't think straight. So he stopped trying and let his mind drift. He stared up at the ceiling. There was a crack in the plaster that snaked its way from one side of the room to the other. A spider had pounced on a fly by the light fixture. It was winding web around and around its prey. He lost time watching the spider's macabre foreplay to dinner.

He blinked his eyes and realized that the room was in semi-darkness now as he continued his exploration of his room. He saw shapes in the freaky patterned wallpaper. Each time he looked —and it had become a major pastime for him—he saw something different. Today there was a squashed cat's face, a one-eared elephant wearing a hat, and a devil's leering face. He shut his eyes for a count of ten and opened them quickly to play a game he'd invented. The devil was still there, so was the elephant, but he couldn't find the cat again. Where the hell had the cat gone?

He searched and searched but he couldn't find it.

Tony shifted, and the room spun around him. Okay, maybe he'd overdone it. He felt…odd.

His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and there was a strange ringing in his ears. It felt like his whole body was vibrating and undulating in time with his heart beat.

Everything started to have a weird quality, like he was drifting in and out of reality.

Maybe he'd better eat something. Numerous tablets and drink on an empty stomach wasn't a good thing. The bag of groceries he'd bought lay on the floor from where he'd thrown them earlier. All he had to do was get up and grab something.

Easier said than done.

He heaved himself upwards, but instead of sitting up he lurched off the bed with a loud crash as his bottle went flying. His head slammed against the table, and his wrist buckled under him as he landed in a heap.

He breathed heavily and tried to focus.

He couldn't seem to move.

None of his limbs would work. He suddenly felt like his whole body was made of lead. He could feel his eyelids flicker as he fought to keep awake.

His heart started to crash in his chest in a hyperactive tattoo as reality hit. Shit, just how many tablets had he taken?

He was fucked.

Was this how it was going to end, with a slow suicide in a faded motel room?

And the most irritating thing was it hadn't even been remotely intentional, it really hadn't been.

He just wanted the pain to go away, wanted to make the outside world fade for a while so he could refocus—not that anyone would believe that after the shit he'd been pulling.

As everything darkened all he felt was a deep-seated shame that even in a long line of fuck-ups this probably won the gold medal for stupidity.

**TBC**

**I'm a tad evil I know but you know you love a cliffhanger! Come talk to me! xx**


	9. Chapter 9

_Again, thank you to all that have reviewed and generally made me blush with your praise. Even bigger gold stars for you all. _

_This is a fairly short chapter but I figured that small but perfectly formed was the way to go considering some of you are slavering at the chops for an update! ;)_

**Chapter 9**

Something was nagging Gibbs. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something important was lurking deep inside his brain, trying to worm its way to his consciousness. But just as he reached out to grab whatever it was, it burrowed deep again.

He tried to stop thinking about it. Experience taught him that the more he tried, the further it would elude him.

It was irritating. He felt it was relevant, felt that it was important, but what the hell was it?

He hit the steering wheel in frustration, partly because he couldn't think but also because the traffic was crawling along.

At least he now knew that they weren't on a wild goose chase. Ziva had called in several positive IDs from the local market. The trail had gone cold again but at least it did confirm Fornell's sighting.

He flipped open his phone and hit speed dial.

"Boss." McGee's voice came on the line.

"Anything?" He kept it brief. He wasn't a man of many words.

"Nothing. I've moved onto the bars in the area. I mean, Fornell said he'd been drinking so…" McGee sounded worried that maybe he'd done wrong for switching track.

"Good idea, McGee. Keep going."

He flipped the phone shut.

The clock was ticking.

He'd feed Vance a line about a cold case and have the team taken off rotation for a few days, but there were limits to how much he could bullshit about a nonexistent case. He was good but not that good

Gibbs sat in his car and drummed his fingers as he thought about his next move. Then Fornell's flippant words came hurtling back to him. What if DiNozzo really was living on the streets?

He called McGee again.

"Get me a list of any homeless shelters or hostels. Meet me back at the hotel when you're done with the bars."

He cursed and prayed that Tony wasn't homeless. It was cold and damp enough during the day but this time of year the nights were absolutely freezing. It was early evening, and already Gibbs could see his breath in the enclosed area of the car. He doubted that Tony's lungs could cope with that kind of exposure. He shut his eyes and remembered the blue lights, gasping breaths, and the hacked-up blood.

He spun the car around, ignoring the blaring horns and hand gestures, and headed back into town towards the hospital.

* * *

Tony came back to a semblance of consciousness gradually. It was a strange feeling. Half-remembered dreams and images flitted in and out of his brain as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was.

Had his alarm just gone off?

Had he been napping at his desk?

His head ached and he felt as sick as a dog. His stomach was on fire for some reason.

More importantly, he couldn't seem to lift his head. Not that he particularly wanted to, but he did begin to seriously wonder why he was incapable of moving any part of his body.

These things should have bothered him but he felt strangely calm and distant from everything.

Maybe he was in the hospital.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd woken up disorientated in an emergency room, but there wasn't that strong antiseptic tang in the air nor was there the usual level of noise that came with doctors and nurses bustling around.

Someone was definitely shaking him though. He heard a voice close to his ear calling his name but he couldn't respond beyond twitching his hand—at least he thought he managed to do that.

A female continued to call his name but he couldn't place the voice. It didn't sound like Abby's gruff, gravelly voice or Ziva's sexy foreign tones.

Oh, God, why did he feel so damn rough?

He felt something soft drape across his face, and then everything lurched as he felt himself being turned onto his side. The earth spun on its axis but it seemed like too much of an effort to try and think why, so he just let his mind drift until the world went black again.

* * *

Andrea sat back on her heels and stared.

When she'd first let herself into Tony's room she had thought he was dead, been convinced of it. She had stood motionless for several seconds before she could even move, she was so scared.

The angle of his body had been all wrong. The way he was sprawled on his back, his limbs folded under him was unnatural but when she rested her hand on his arm she'd known he was still alive. She had touched death before and could still remember how it felt, still remember the icy coldness and the pale, pale flesh immobile under her touch.

Tony was still warm, still pliable.

She fumbled at his neck to try and find a pulse. It took her a while but it was there—a faint but dull throbbing underneath the skin. She shut her eyes and said a silent prayer.

She shook Tony hard to try and wake him but he didn't respond. She tried to think of her Girl Scout first aid but all she remembered was the need to roll him over onto his side.

Part of her was screaming _Get out!_—not because she didn't want to help but because she felt so damn inept. But she knew that she couldn't do that to him. She got up and looked around the room. He didn't look like he was just drunk. She slept with him each night, and he snored softly when he'd been drinking. He fidgeted and muttered in his sleep.

Right now there was a stillness about him that was all wrong to her. She spied an orange vial on the floor. The lid was off, and several white tablets littered the floor next to where he lay. She read the label.

Oh, fuck, now it made sense.

She started to frantically shake him again, calling his name, unaware that her voice grew louder each time. She wasn't even aware she was crying until a tear fell down onto her hand. She didn't know what to do.

_"Tony, wake up! Tony, please!"_

She got no response. She scrambled up and ran. She bypassed the next room and hammered on the end door. She went to the one person who looked like they'd be good in a crisis. Samuel was always so calm and polite. He smiled to her whenever he passed and he didn't make snide innuendos about her drinking or her visits to Tony's room like some did in the complex.

The door opened, and she waved her hand in the direction of Tony's room, her voice sticking in her throat. Samuel started running before she could say anything. She guessed her face said it all.

He was already kneeling and checking for a pulse when she got to the room again.

"What happened?" Samuel asked.

"I just found him on the floor. I…I think he's mixed pills with whisky." She picked up the vial and handed them over. He looked at the label and uttered the same curse as she had done.

"I didn't know what to do. Is he going to be alright?" Please, let him be alright. She chewed on her cheek and watched. Christ, she really needed a drink.

"Probably would have ended up choking on his own puke if you hadn't found him, but we need to get him up on his feet."

She watched him rub Tony's chest hard. Eventually Tony groaned but he didn't open his eyes.

"Come on, kid," Samuel muttered to himself.

"Shouldn't we call an ambulance?" she asked as she paced.

He shook his head.

She wondered why he seemed so knowledgeable about this all but she realized that she didn't care as long as he helped.

As if reading her mind Samuel quickly explained that a misspent youth meant this wasn't the first time he'd had to deal with drugs overdose. It was hard to imagine the quiet man in front of her with the salt and pepper hair and crinkling eyes had ever been part of the drug culture, but everybody had a past.

"He'll be okay…just need to get him more alert…" He checked Tony's pulse again. "Shit, his heart rate is way too sluggish."

He got up and headed for the door.

"Where you going?" she yelped.

"I'll be back. Just watch him. If it looks like he's going to puke, roll him on his side again."

She nodded numbly. She sat with her arms wrapped around herself and stared at Tony, feeling like this was happening to someone else she felt so disembodied.

Andrea could hear Samuel hammer on Bill's door and then the sound of murmured talking leaked through the thin walls. She reached a hand out and stroked Tony's arm. He was getting chilled. That was something she could deal with. She grabbed the blankets off the bed. She wrapped them around him, tucking the scratchy material close. She looked towards the door willing Samuel to reappear. She would screw up. She couldn't be trusted with something as important.

She stared at the man in front of her.

She didn't even know why she'd knocked on his door that first night. She had only seen him once when Una had shown him to his room but there had been something about him, not just his good looks but something she couldn't quantify, couldn't even begin to put into words.

She'd gotten into the habit of picking up men in bars and sleeping with them. She supposed she treated them badly just to prove to herself that all men were bastards just like her husband had been. She usually wasn't disappointed…most were complete assholes.

But Tony was different. No matter how she treated him he had never retaliated. Most of the men she slept with did when she pushed it like she did. Saw her actions as open season to use their fists and it was. She deserved it for not protecting those closest to her.

Even though they really didn't talk, she felt a strange rapport with Tony. She treated him like shit and he let her. She hated herself for doing that to him but she couldn't stop. It was like a drug. He was addictive. To be honest recently the first time she'd felt safe was when she was asleep with his arms wrapped around her.

She swallowed hard and found herself muttering the same words she'd used to comfort her children when they'd been ill, back when she'd been happy and had a family. She started crying hard when she thought of her kids but she didn't stop the flow of words. She started to shake Tony again.

"Tony, please." She could feel the panic start to build again.

Thankfully Samuel came back into the room, this time trailing Bill behind him. The ex-teacher chewed nervously on his fingernails and hovered near the door, looking like he would bolt at any moment.

Samuel knelt down next to her and shoved something under Tony's nose. Andrea blinked, not understanding what was going on, but she figured it had something to do with Bill's personal pharmaceutical supplies. Whenever she saw him the guy was permanently tweaked.

When Samuel snapped the capsule, the result was immediate.

Tony came up fighting.

He lurched upwards, arms flailing and gasped in lungful after lungful of air into his chest as he looked wildly around him.

* * *

Director Vance donned his coat and made his way out of his office. As he walked down the stairs he glanced at the bullpens.

Everything was quiet.

A few agents still were at their desks, mostly shuffling papers or staring at their screens.

He looked at four desks in particular.

All screens were shut down, desks devoid of paperwork.

Something was going on with Gibbs' team.

They were all being way too furtive.

Had been for weeks now.

He had his suspicions as to what was going on but he knew he'd be stonewalled if he questioned Gibbs.

He'd been warned by several different sources before they'd met that Gibbs walked to the beat of his own drum, but even he had been surprised just how much of curmudgeon the man was.

Sometime he wondered just who ran NCIS.

* * *

It felt like someone had kicked him in the chest.

Jesus.

He kicked his legs out and connected with something.

Voices started yelling at him to stop.

Stop what?

Tony gasped and tried to get away from the iron grip of whoever was holding him but he couldn't manage it.

He blinked and looked around the room, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on.

Blurred, indistinct faces faded in and out of focus.

As suddenly as his wake up had been, he found himself crashing again. All energy and fight suddenly left his body, and he slumped back against whoever was holding him tight.

He felt his eyes sliding shut and could only listen to the pounding of his own blood in his ears.

"_Stay awake, Tony."_

Someone slapped his face.

Hey, his brain yelled.

_"Help me get him up on his feet."_ The voice closest to him spoke and he found himself being hauled upwards.

Through the slits in his eyes the room spun.

_"We need water and lots of coffee." _The same voice again, and he heard a door open and shut.

He wanted to tell them that he didn't really drink coffee but when he opened his mouth to speak vomit whooshed up into his throat. He gagged and he felt someone push his head down and bent him double. As hands clasped around his waist to keep him upright he emptied the contents of his stomach onto someone's sneakers.

As he was hauled upright again he tried to communicate that he wanted to just sleep and wake up when things were a little less weird but somewhere along the line he seemed to have lost the power of speech along with the requisite motor skills to walk.

Vomiting on someone's footwear should have elicited a more pissed off reaction than he was getting but all he could hear was that same calm voice telling him he'd be okay.

The way he felt that was highly debatable but he didn't have any strength to argue.

Things were not making any sense.

He felt like he had been inserted directly into a David Lynch film.

All he needed was a backward talking dwarf and some cherry pie.

He'd never been a Lynch fan and now he knew why.

Things were just too damn confusing.

Instead he just went with the flow and let himself be dragged in circles around the room.

**TBC**

**Please come and speak to me. Did I tell you how much I loved you all...did I...I think I did. *grovels* ;)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Once again, Thank You to all who have taken the time out to review, comment and PM me. You really do drive me along and make the whole writing experience worth it. xx**

Chapter 10

"No one can just disappear, dammit." Gibbs was pissed.

Ziva watched her boss as he stabbed at a plate full of congealing scrambled eggs. She shared a look with McGee before she turned her attention to her bran muffin. Gibbs mood had not improved overnight. They were all frustrated after several encouraging sightings came to nothing but Gibbs was the only one to vocalize just how pissed they felt.

She broke a piece off her muffin and thoughtfully chewed. She'd been biding her time because she knew how Gibbs would react to what she'd been planning to say for days now, but she hadn't been able to sleep for over-thinking and she realized couldn't put it off any longer. She swallowed the dry cake and looked at her boss.

"Do you think what we're doing is right?" she asked.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes and gave her a stare.

"What?" He said it quietly but the steel was there.

"Quite clearly, Tony does not want to be found. We have been searching for weeks now, and he has left us no crumbs to follow, no clues, nothing. He has done everything in his power to stop us tracking him down…so, searching for him, is that right thing to do when he obviously does not want us to find him? " She paused, waiting for the eruption.

Gibbs threw his fork down on his plate. It clattered down and scattered yellow globules of egg across the Formica tabletop.

McGee looked like he wanted to crawl under the table.

"So you're saying we just give up, huh? Just leave him be, even though we all damn well know he's not making the right decisions right now? Is that what Mossad teaches you--when the going gets tough you bail on a colleague? " he barked.

Ziva felt herself grow so angry at the insinuation that she didn't care. "That's not what I mean at all! I care about Tony, we all do, but maybe this is something he needs to do by himself. Maybe he needs time away from us."

Gibbs looked ready to blow. "Why would you think that, Officer Davide?" he asked, his voice deathly quiet.

Ziva wasn't easily intimidated so his tone just angered her more. Gibbs was too busy fluffing up his feathers and wasn't listening to what she was actually saying.

"I think he does not want us to find him because we are part of the problem."

There, she'd said it.

Gibbs was silent but he was staring at her. If his eyes could shoot fire she'd be dead.

"What?" McGee looked confused.

Ziva slapped her hand down on the table.

"Oh, come on, we have all been treating him badly…and we don't even realize we are doing it."

She waved a hand at Gibbs.

"You take him for granted. You make him beg for every morsel of praise, you yell at him all the time even when he has done nothing wrong, you show him no respect even though he is your second, so why should anyone else."

She didn't give him time to respond before she turned to McGee.

"And for a long time now you've questioned everything he says and try to undermine him at every turn like you feel superior to him. You clearly resent that he is a senior agent, and he knows it."

McGee flushed red.

Ziva crumbled her muffin into crumbs.

"And I have been just as bad. I mess with his head and don't listen to him even though I know he is trying to help me. I think I know better."

She looked up at Gibbs and McGee.

"We all treat him like he is a wayward child but I think we forget what he's been through the past few years and instead of showing him how much we needed him on the team we kept pushing and pushing and we failed to take in consideration that he has a breaking point like everybody else. To us Tony was just Tony, the fool, the one that makes us laugh."

Gibbs slammed his cup down on the table.

"I'm sorry but I believe that is why he left and that is why he hasn't contacted us. We pushed him to this. We let him down." Ziva sighed, suddenly feeling deflated, all anger gone.

Gibbs stood up and pushed his chair across the floor with a screech that sounded like nails being dragged down a chalkboard. He threw down a wad of money and stalked out of the diner.

She watched McGee shred the label on his bottle of orange juice. He looked like he was trying to work out if he was going to burst into tears or join Gibbs in a walkout.

_That went well_, she thought.

* * *

Tony woke up suddenly and looked around the room, faintly disorientated. He ran a hand over his face and rubbed his gritty eyes. He swept his tongue around his teeth. Something appeared to have died in his mouth overnight.

He went to roll over and quickly realized that he wasn't alone. He pulled his arm from around Andrea's curled-up form next to him and watched her sleep. That surprised him. He would have expected her to run a mile as soon as she could. Finding your fuck-buddy comatose on the floor would be enough to kind of put a crimp on the whole deal but there she was, sound asleep in his bed.

The sun was bright and streamed through the curtains. He checked his watch--damn, it was late but after the night they'd had he wasn't shocked that they had slept until midday.

He did a mental check. Still dressed, which was depressingly becoming the norm. He felt like crap. His skull and brain felt bruised and every muscle in his body seemed to ache. He wasn't sure if that was due to the night or the start of withdrawal setting in. By now he would usually be half way down a bottle of scotch.

He felt deep shame as he remembered having to be walked around the room by Samuel and Bill like a drunken teenager after his first taste of the keg. They had kept him up most of the night when all he'd wanted to do was sleep. Then there had been the endless glasses of water he'd been forced to drink to flush his system and Andrea's hands rubbing his back as he'd vomited and vomited until he'd thought he'd just die from that alone.

As the night had worn on he'd done a lot of apologizing, sign of weakness be damned. He'd known close friends that wouldn't have put up with all the shit he'd thrown at them last night. They would have just called an ambulance and made him someone else's problem, so the fact that three relative strangers stepped up to the plate counted in his book.

He still couldn't believe he'd done something so fucking stupid.

He wasn't some idiot kid acting out for attention. It hadn't been a cry for help.

He knew full well how pain meds slewed his judgment, he should have been more careful but intelligence and clear thought went out the window after the first few tablets and several tumblers full of spirits. Everything seemed comfortably distant, cause and consequence went to hell. Until you woke up on the floor with someone having to jumpstart your heart with Amyl Nitrate--then suddenly it all seemed very real.

Tony slid out of the bed carefully as to not wake Andrea.

He crept into the bathroom and undressed. He smelt so rank that he was offending himself let alone anyone else. He dumped his clothes into the corner of the room to worry about them later and stepped in front of the mirror.

He ran a hand over his face and stared. He filled the sink with warm water and lathered up his hands, he rubbed the suds into his face. He picked up the cheap disposable razor he'd bought the first week he'd arrived and ignoring his shaking hand he dragged it up his neck. He rinsed the razor in the sink and continued. Five minutes later his face looked an angry cat had shred it but he looked more human.

He stepped into the shower and turned on the water, not adding cold, just letting the scalding water warm his chilled bones.

He stood under the water as long as he could stand it, his skin red and raw, but he felt clean when he eventually shut the water off.

He dried himself and walked back naked to the bedroom, steadfastly ignoring the bottle of whisky and the prescription meds that still sat on the table. He really felt like he needed a drink or something to take the edge off, and that's when he realized he had a major problem.

But he kind of liked the fact that no one had removed the offending items even after the debacle last night. For so long he hadn't felt the master of his own destiny. He'd become a puppet and it seemed like people took turns to shove their hands up his ass to work him, constantly telling him what to do, how to do it and when. So the fact that they'd left the decision up to him was refreshing.

To be or not to be…that is the question.

Quoting Hamlet to himself. If only McGee could see him now, from Pee Wee Herman to Shakespeare by way of overdose.

He eased himself back under the covers, curling his body around Andrea's back, and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close to try and retain the rapidly cooling warmth he felt in his body. She let out a little snuffle and shifted against him but didn't wake. He tucked her head under his chin and breathed in the lemony scent of her shampoo.

It felt good, comfortable. It wasn't real but he pretended to himself it was, tried to convince himself that he wasn't shaking like a dipsomaniac and this was not the woman he was having a highly dysfunctional relationship with. Nope, this was just another normal, happy day. As he fell into a fitful asleep he wondered once again where the hell he was going from here.

* * *

They said that the truth hurt.

It was true.

It did.

The more McGee thought about what Ziva had said the more he realized that she'd spoken the truth no matter how outraged he'd been at the time.

Yes, Tony irritated him sometimes, that was a given. When he was in one of his moods he could put a kindergarten kid to shame with his antics, so it was difficult sometimes not to snap at all the 'probie' and 'Mc' nicknames. But with Ziva laying it out like she had, he realized that he did often cross the line where Tony was concerned with comments that were sharp and overly derogatory--but he couldn't help getting frustrated that Tony still treated him like he was green. He'd gotten used to being looked up to when he worked in Cyber Crime, so it had been difficult to return back to being a junior member on the team. What he'd conveniently forgotten was the way he'd ribbed the guys down in the basement _a la _Tony and how much fun it had been to do so.

He supposed also that deep down he could never really figure out why Tony was held in such high esteem as an agent. He heard people talk about some of his undercover work like he was a God but all he could really see most of the time was an immature guy who threw spitballs.

McGee put his head in his hands.

For all of Tony's unique and irritating ways, the man had always been there for him and how did he repay him? By retaliating badly to his playful banter and twisting the knife.

He'd been blind-sighted by his own ambition into forgetting all the times Tony's jokes and stupid actions had diffused many a dark situation, forgotten all the times Tony had shown that he was indeed the better agent. But added to that Tony had a fierce courage that made his gut clench because he knew that no matter how long he spent in the field, for all his knowledge of computer systems, he didn't think he'd ever be so cool under fire.

Ziva was right. He had thought he would make a better senior agent but if he really looked into himself, in reality he couldn't see himself doing half the stuff DiNozzo had.

Tony had the street smarts that he could never hope to achieve.

McGee swallowed hard. He'd be dead now if it hadn't been for Tony. He'd forgotten that fact too.

He remembered how Tony had immediately swung into action the instant he'd seen that bomb. It was clear that Tony hadn't even stopped to think of the consequences when he'd firmly taken his place holding that key steady.

Tony had protected the junior members of his team without a pause. That's what being a senior agent meant he suddenly realized.

He'd been so scared that he hadn't even processed Tony's words that day.

It hadn't even crossed his mind at the time that a guy who was still recovering from the plague wouldn't exactly be up for a sprint away from a car filled with Semtex but Tony's voice had projected such confidence in his ability to run fast that both he and Kate had not questioned the reality of the statement.

They had just run.

When Tony hadn't answered their panicked calls he had been convinced he was dead…but nothing seemed to be able to kill the man. He had nine lives and then some. And still the man joked even after being blown to hell.

Tony had given them one precious extra day with Kate.

McGee shut his eyes.

Another realization hit.

His little sister would always be his little sister. The years would never change that. He would still continue to tease her and treat her like a pain in the ass no matter how many years went past.

He suddenly understood why Tony still called him 'Probie'.

Instead of taking it in the spirit it was intended he'd chosen to get offended.

He'd been an ass. He shredded the last piece of juice bottle label and looked up at Ziva.

It was no wonder Tony didn't want to be around them right now.

* * *

Gibbs was wound tight. He walked around the block, head down deep in thought.

He'd absorbed Ziva's words and was a big enough man to understand that she had just spoken the truth even if he hadn't wanted to hear it. He supposed that deep down he'd come to the same conclusions, but had been too pigheaded to acknowledge it.

But there was one point he didn't agree on and the more he thought about it the more he figured he was right to.

If Tony were pissed off at them, if he had lost faith and thought he wasn't part of the team anymore, then the worse thing to do would be to roll over and give up the search.

The way he saw it, Tony had now had just over four weeks of solitude away from them. It was time to end it now--if they could damn well find him, that was.

Let Tony see that they did care about him by not sitting back and giving him the lead. If that fact pissed Tony, then he'd damn well personally knock some sense into that thick skull of his.

That was the problem with Tony. He appeared to have enough ego and self confidence to fill several Madison Square Gardens, but deep down he was still a little boy craving attention and approval from the adults around him--and all they'd done was metaphorically shut him in a basement and turn off the lights.

His cell vibrated in his pocket. He flipped it open.

_Vance._

Great.

He sighed.

He flipped the cell shut.

It was just a shame that the signal was so bad here.

Last thing he needed right now was Leon crawling up his ass.

* * *

When Tony woke again it was dark. He was shocked to find that he'd slept so long again and yet he still felt like crap. Despite the shower he'd taken that morning he still felt grimy. He was cold and clammy, his head still pounded, and his body felt like it had been stretched on a rack.

He sat up in bed and turned on the light, squinting as the brightness invaded his eyes. He was alone, but the room had clearly been tidied around him. Huh, and he hadn't woken up? He must have been seriously out for the count.

Tony got up and headed for the shower. His hip was hurting again, a legacy from running from Fornell, and being walked around the room for hours the previous night probably hadn't helped. He flexed his back and stretched his leg out in front of him. He bit back a groan, as the ache became a sharp pain. Fuck, it was getting old, he didn't usually take this long to heal. Then again, he hadn't exactly been following doctor's orders so he guessed he couldn't complain.

After cleaning his teeth and sluicing himself down again he felt less sluggish. He got out the shower and looked around for a something to dry himself on. He raised an eyebrow at the neat pile of towels that sat on the chair in the bathroom. He hadn't actually exchanged his linens with the maid for days, instead choosing to reuse the same dank, soggy towels over and over. He picked one up and sniffed. It smelled good and was fluffier than normal.

Huh.

He wandered back to the bedroom to find his clothes had also had the same treatment. They sat in a big fat column, all freshly laundered. He scanned the pile. Yup, pretty much everything he'd arrived with had been washed, even his underwear. He pulled out a pair of boxers, jeans and a tee from the pile and dressed, relishing the luxury of clean clothes after weeks of wearing increasingly filthy ones.

He padded around the room now that he was dressed. The bottle was still on the side. He eyed it. He wasn't sure why he felt like a kid who'd been told not to touch but he did. No one had imposed a ban but after nearly offing himself because he'd been too damn hammered to keep track of how many tablets he'd downed, he felt a strange sense of obligation to the people who'd helped him. It didn't mean though that he didn't want a drink because he did. He shut his eyes and laced his fingers behind his head to try and stop the shakes. He wasn't even sure if the tremors in his hands were just due to stress like his minor memory lapses or were just psychosomatic because they definitely got worse as soon as he thought about having a drink.

And he did really, really want one.

He'd been here before, when he'd been agent afloat on the Ronald Reagan. He'd been so fucking depressed, there was the guilt over Jenny, he missed the team like hell and added to that everybody hated him. Who wanted to be friends with the one man who could bust their ass for any onboard violation? The whole experience had brought back memories of his crappy childhood spent in a house full of adults who ignored him.

Eventually he'd realized that he wasn't able to keep it up at that pace and do his job without getting reported, so he'd cut back. It had been hard but he'd managed it. Back then the thought of Gibbs finding out had been enough incentive.

He removed his hands from his head and reached for the bottle.

Didn't really matter now.

The bottle clinked against the glass as he poured. He swallowed it down quickly. He screwed the lid back n the bottle and sat down on the bed. He was just in the process of trying to find the remote for the TV when the door opened.

"You're up and you've shaved. Looks good. How did you sleep?" Andrea bustled in carrying Styrofoam cartons.

"Good, thanks. I can't believe I slept so long," He paused suddenly remembering why he'd slept so much. "Thank you for what you did last night…I…I don't really know what to say beyond that than I'm an idiot."

She looked at him for a long moment.

"Did you mean to do it?" she quietly asked.

No need to ask what 'it' was.

"No! No, I just…I busted my hip weeks ago, it was hurting…" He waved in the direction of the crutches that stood propped against the wall. "I guess I lost track of how many pills I was popping and drinking on top of the meds wasn't exactly the brightest thing I've ever done."

Her gaze didn't waver.

"Don't bullshit a bullshitter, Tony. I've seen the look you get in your eyes sometimes, like you don't care about anything."

"What?" Shit, was he really that transparent? "Look, I swear on my mother's life it was not intentional."

Okay, so his mother had been dead thirty-odd years but she didn't know that.

She looked unconvinced.

"Look, let's just agree to disagree about this." Tony sighed and changed track. "Did you tidy up and do my laundry?"

She nodded.

"You didn't have to do that but again… thank you."

He got up and kissed the top of her head. It occurred to him that this was the fist real conversation they'd ever had that went beyond uttering expletives during sex and him apologizing for throwing up.

"No problem. I had to do my own anyway so it was nothing to put yours in to." She smiled shyly and handed over the Styrofoam carton to him. "You should eat something. It should still be warm. I've got some cutlery in my bag."

She opened her purse and produced a plastic knife and a Spork. She motioned for him to sit. He realized that he'd been staring blankly at the carton in his hand.

"Sorry, thanks." He sat on the bed and flipped the box. The smell of food made his stomach rebel but he smiled weakly.

"I got you Salisbury steak, beans and mashed potatoes and gravy and this is apple pie care of Una." She produced a Tupperware tub.

He cut a piece of steak and put it into his mouth. He chewed as she watched over him. It felt like his old nanny was alive and well and making sure he ate his greens but considering she'd gone to so much trouble for him he figured she could do the damn well what she liked. On the third mouthful in he realized that he was enjoying the food and started to dig in with gusto. Andrea looked pleased and relaxed enough to take her coat off and pour herself a drink.

"Want one?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Cutting back for obvious reasons."

Whoa, where had that come from?

He stuffed some mashed potatoes into his mouth and swallowed. They sat in silence, she continued to watch him eat but he was too focused on the food too much care.

"So… how long have you been living here?" He eventually asked.

Andrea took a drink before answering.

"Almost three months now."

He nodded as he finished his mouthful. He closed the now empty box and put it down on the floor

"And what brought you here? 'Cause let's face it--this place despite the name, is hardly Shangri-La. What's your story?" He wondered if she would tell him even though he knew.

Again she took a drink before answering.

"I lost my children in a car accident. Home just didn't seem like home anymore." She spoke in a flat monotone. She refilled her glass and shrugged. "Soon after it happened I got in my car and ended up here…just stayed."

Well, he supposed that was an approximation of the truth but he didn't push it.

"I'm sorry. Losing people you care about is always hard but your kids…that must be the ultimate."

She didn't respond. There wasn't much you could say really. As it was, just saying 'sorry' seemed so woefully inadequate to him.

An awkward silence descended. He pulled the pie towards him and took several bites but realized he was done halfway through. He wiped his mouth and his hands on a paper towel.

"So what's your story?" She asked as she tucked up her leg underneath her and rolled her glass in her hand.

Tony snapped his head up. Should have expected that one. He contemplated just lying but then wondered what the point would be. It was not like she had a hotline to the FBI.

He gave a short laugh.

"You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me." She smiled at him.

He got up and poured two fingers of scotch into his glass and sat down opposite her.

"I thought you were cutting down," she jokingly scolded.

"I'm not drinking full glasses so that's progress." He grinned sheepishly at her. He picked up the tub of Una's apple pie and offered it. "There's some pie left if you want some."

"Quit changing the subject. I've shown you mine, time you showed me yours, so to speak."

He laughed at that and took a sip of his drink.

"Don't get mad but when I was cleaning up, I picked up your jacket. Several fake IDs fell out. So who are you really? Is your name even Tony? Because there was whole lot of names to choose from."

She stared right at him.

"So you now think I'm some con man, huh?" He raised an eyebrow. He took a deep breath. "The truth is much more mundane I can assure you. My name is Tony, actually. Anthony DiNozzo. Pleasure to meet you."

He lent forward and held out his hand. It felt kind of strange introducing yourself to someone you'd been banging for a month, but hey, his love life had never been exactly conventional.

"Andrea Woodhams. Pleasure to meet you too Mr. DiNozzo," she said as he leaned forward and took his hand. "And the fake IDs?"

He fought the urge to drain his glass and took another sip.

"I'm a Special Agent working for the federal government. I work for an organization called NCIS. We investigate any crimes relating to the Navy, be it some crazed Gunny who's slaughtered his family right down to terrorist activities. Anything that has that Navy connection comes our way."

"Really? NCI-what?" She frowned.

"Trust me, no one has heard of us. That's what makes it all so fucking depressing. Everyone knows the FBI, CIA…ra ra ra but NCIS…nobody gives a shit. We've saved hundreds if not thousands of people and yet…nada. We are faceless. I'm just another faceless government schmuck. All the praise we get for putting our lives on the line makes me feel kind of all warm and fuzzy inside"

To hell with not drinking. He drained his glass and stood up for a refill. He turned and the look on Andrea's face told him that she did at least believe him now. There was nothing like an angry, bitter tirade to blow away the doubt.

He sat back down on the bed.

"So why are you here?" She moved closer to him.

He sighed.

"For the past year or so I kept waking up wondering why I did what I did. It all seems so futile, you know? But I kept on thinking it would get better. We take out one bad guy and there are ten to take his place. I've been shot, stabbed, tortured, drugged, blown up all on a regular basis, hell, I busted my hip chasing a perp who'd disemboweled a whole navy family."

He took another drink.

"I guess I woke up and I realized nothing I do really matters. I just didn't care about anything anymore. I was done with all the shit, all the inter-agency politics, all the 'same shit, different day' stuff."

He looked down at the hand that rested on his thigh. Then back up at her.

"When I was a homicide cop I used to see the old guys burn out and I couldn't understand it. I couldn't figure out how someone could just crumble like that. I used to feel smug thinking that would never happen to me because I was Anthony DiNozzo…indestructible. Well, let's just say I get it now."

She was rubbing his arm now. Shit, her bastard of a husband had gassed her kids and yet she was the one comforting him. That was so wrong but he could feel himself shaking again so maybe he did look pathetic enough to be stroked.

"I got suspended from my job for being a fuck-up."

He finished his drink and put the glass down on the floor next to his bare feet. He ended up by mirroring her words.

"Home just didn't seem like home anymore so I got in my car and ended up here…just stayed."

"Oh, Tony." She pulled him into a hug.

He leaned into her and wrapped his arms around her back. The next thing he knew he was kissing her and she was hungrily responding. He'd take a pity fuck if it was on offer, anything to make him feel less pathetic.

He pushed her backwards onto the bed and crawled up her body. Her hands fumbled with his tee, pushing up upwards and over his head. He sat up and shucked it off. He divested her of the shirt she wore and unhooked her bra as quickly as he could. The room dissolved around him as all his focus went on getting her out of her clothes as fast as possible.

Soon they were caught up in the usual game. Hot breathless kissing, tongues snaking together, nipping and biting lips as they pawed each other. Andrea's nails raking at his back and digging into his ass as he ground himself into her.

He could feel himself straining against the seam of his zipper but as his hand moved to the free himself he stopped.

As hot as it felt, right now it also felt wrong.

He bit back a yelp as her nails found an old scratch wound on his back. He gently grabbed her wrists and held them over her head.

"Not tonight." He whispered into her ear. He looked down at her and saw confusion in her eyes.

He lent down and kissed her but instead of their usual crashing and urgency he kept it soft.

He moved up and down her body, licking and stroking every inch.

Each time she moved her hands to strike or scratch he shook his head and placed them up on the pillow away from him.

It was like taming wild animal. At first she was tense and unbending but slowly she began to relax. Only then did he finally move downwards with a sense of purpose. They'd fucked plenty but they had never been seriously intimate and he had always enjoyed slowly wrenching an orgasm out of a woman with his tongue. He looked up at her silently, he figured the way she bit her lip and shut her eyes was permission enough.

At his first touch she tensed again. He stroked her thighs and stomach until she slowly started to relax again and if her mews and halting breaths were anything to go by she was enjoying the experience. It felt good not to have to think about anything other than the task at hand. He felt like Tony again and he couldn't help but feel pride as she tensed up again but this time for very different reasons. He let her ride out the spasms until he couldn't take the strain of holding back any longer and stood up to unzip. She didn't move, instead she watched him undress and reach for the condoms with a smile on her face.

He still kept it slow, rocking his hips in a rhythmic waltz but she finally seemed to understand now and the hands on his back stroked and caressed. Her teeth gently grazed his ear lobe as she whispered encouragement.

It was strange because he wasn't a slow, sensitive kind of a guy when it came down to sex. But after weeks of pain and masochism it felt good to take it down a notch and when he came it was no less mind-blowing for it.

Afterwards he felt contented but also exposed. It was as if a sudden companionable shyness had fallen over them. The easy conversation of an hour ago had fled, and he was relieved when she eventually fell asleep curled up in his arms. He'd pretty much slept the last twenty hours away so he felt wide awake and he knew sleep would not come anytime soon. He lay still, not wanting to disturb her, until he got a cramp an hour in.

Tony carefully slid away from her, covering her body with the blankets before dressing quietly.

He grabbed his key and jacket and shut the door behind himself.

He slowly walked into town, relying on the badly lit streets to cover for him.

He eventually found a dive bar down a dark ally and ordered a beer. He spent a couple of hours nursing his bottle and people-watching before the urge to pee made him get up and head for the can. The bathrooms were as delightful as the rest of the bar and after availing himself of the facilities he beat a hasty retreat just so he could breathe again. On the way back to the bar he saw a payphone.

He paused and before realizing what he was doing, he picked up the receiver and pumped a few quarters into the slot.

_"Hello. You have reached me and not an answering machine."_ The husky voice on the other end made him smile.

_"Hellooooo….come on …speak to momma,_" she repeated.

All the things he wanted to say vanished and instead he just found himself breathing heavily into the handset. Great, now she'd think some pervert was giving her a dirty phone call.

_"Tony!"_ Abby's voice sounded unsure now. _"Is that you?"_

Shit.

Hearing his name made him panic, and he slammed down the receiver.

He leaned back against the wall.

Good one, DiNozzo.

Smooth, real smooth.

**TBC**

**Please come and speak to me. Love ya for it! **


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you to all you fabulous people who are helping to maintain my giant ego with your praise and wonderful comments! I do seriously love you all. **

**And can I just say that my three pet rats helped me greatly with this chapter but for some reason spellcheck did not recognize the word 'cbjchiy8767jh' that Cromwell typed as he walked over the keyboard! Hee xx**

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_Chapter 11_

Gibbs was sitting on the end of his bed in their hotel room reading a newspaper while McGee fiddled with his laptop. It had been another long day and Ziva's little intervention hadn't helped his mood any.

When his cell rang he pulled it out of his pocket. He expected to see Vance's name come up on the display, instead he saw Abby's.

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!" she excitedly yelled in his ear.

"Slow down, Abs," he couldn't help but smile at her excitement.

McGee was staring intently at him obviously wondering why Abby would be on the phone at eleven in evening.

"Tony just called me!" she gasped out.

Gibbs was already on his feet.

"What did he say? Where is he?" He was pulling his shoes on as he spoke.

McGee did the same, obviously sensing something was up.

"He didn't actually say anything. Well, he just kind of huffed down the line then hung up..."

"Abs!" It wasn't much but the excitement was building.

"Gibbs, it _was _him, I ran a trace and unless one of you called me from a bar and put the phone down before talking… it had to be him. He's still there in Leesburg!" She was talking at a thousand miles an hour.

Gibbs was already out the door with McGee running after him. He motioned for him to get Ziva and meet down by the car.

"Address, Abs." He ran down the stairs.

"Mickey's bar, 1115 West Constitutional on the South side."

He shut his cell and was putting the key in the ignition when Ziva and McGee charged over to the car.

"Get in," he yelled.

He drove fast with the GPS woman irritating him with every curt instruction. He was aware that Ziva was gripping her knees and McGee was holding on tight to the sissy bar, but the traffic was light so what did it matter if he drove like he was on a race track?

They'd be disappointed if he didn't drive like a lunatic.

Twenty minutes later, he screeched to a halt outside the bar and was out the door before Ziva and McGee had time to peel their fingers off whatever they'd been holding onto.

The place was a typical all-night drinking hole. Several unsavory patrons sat slumped in their own little worlds in the dark booths, drinking steadily.

He scanned the joint. Dammit, no sign of DiNozzo.

"Check the bathroom," he barked. Ziva headed towards the back of the bar.

He marched over to the bar, tugging the photo of Tony out of his jacket pocket.

"You see this man in here tonight?"

The barkeep looked disinterested and continued to dry a glass with a cloth that looked like it violated a dozen health codes.

"Nope." He said without even looking.

Gibbs took a deep breath. It didn't help.

As quick as a flash he leaned over the counter and grabbed the guy's sweatshirt, twisted the material hard in his fist and yanked him so he half-sprawled over the counter. Several dirty glasses smashed to the floor. The guy yelped and tried to pull away but Gibbs held on tight.

"I'll give you one more chance." He shoved the photo up close to the guy's face. "You see this man in here tonight?"

"Yes, yes… h…he was in, I…. I remember now," the man stuttered.

"When did he leave?" Gibbs said overly patiently like he was speaking to a moron, which he was if the guy's demeanor was anything to go by.

"Um…about half an hour…f…forty minutes ago maybe…I don't know…one minute he was here, next he wasn't." The guy squirmed, looking scared.

Gibbs swore and released him, giving him a little push backwards and ignored the fact that he fell in a heap behind the bar.

"I don't think they ever clean the bathrooms in this place." Ziva walked over with a grimace on her face. "No sign of Tony."

"He's already gone." He put the photo back in his jacket. "Let's go, see if he's out there somewhere."

He drove round the block and then weaved across town just in case. Eyes peeled, crawling along and eyeballing every shape and person they saw. Half an hour later, he called it a night. As pissed as he was to have missed DiNozzo again, at least it proved he was definitely still in the area. He drove back to their hotel. As he pulled up he didn't get out the car.

"Boss?" McGee questioned.

"Get some rest." He waited for them to get out. They both stared at him. "Go!"

He was wide-awake and didn't fancy having to listen to McGee snuffle in his sleep all night. He put his foot to the floor and sped off, leaving the two of them standing on the sidewalk.

He stopped off at a drive-thru and got a coffee. It tasted like crap but it was scalding hot and wet so it would have to do. The roads were empty, and he enjoyed driving when the usual ass-holes were asleep. He took a long gulp of the coffee and curled his lip at the taste.

His mind drifted as the lights and buildings flashed by.

Halfway down the cup it happened. His brain suddenly sparked into life and spat out the damn thing that had been nagging at his gut.

He cursed.

He'd been played by a pro.

Gibbs turned the car and headed towards the freeway.

Ten minutes he pulled into the parking lot and sat. The place was just as depressing as he'd remembered.

He drank coffee and watched.

It had been something so simple but he should have picked up on it. Hotel after hotel he'd shown his badge and every time he'd had to explain who NCIS was except at the Shangri-La. The owner hadn't blinked at being shown a fed badge or questioned him. If he could bet money on it he'd say that she'd been expecting him.

Warning her of a visit had probably been one of the first things Tony had done after seeing Fornell. He could always charm the ladies, no matter how old, so it wouldn't have been a push for him to coerce the woman to lie for him.

He kicked himself. He should have seen it but he hadn't expected anyone to be lying, especially a woman who looked like everyone's favorite Grandma. The other guy he'd approached had given off squirrelly vibes but he'd just put that down to the badge. A lot of people acted that way around cops, especially if they had a record.

He stopped himself from going in guns blazing. He could be wrong about this but his instincts told him otherwise.

It didn't take him long to notice the comings and going at one of the rooms. Men of a certain age parked and trotted up to the second floor, stayed for an average of half an hour then returned to their cars. He didn't have to be a genius to work out what the occupant of room eight was getting up to. He made a decision. He checked his wallet, then got out the car.

The woman who opened the door was not what he'd been expecting but he kept a smile on his face and tried to look non-threatening. She eyed him suspiciously for a second before waving him inside.

* * *

Tony sat and sipped his whisky as he half watched a crap sitcom the TV, then turned down sound low.

Andrea was asleep again. Limbs sprawled over the bed with the TV casting a blue-green glow over her skin.

She had woken up when he'd let himself back into the room after his late night stroll. He'd been antsy after hearing Abby's voice and she'd seen that, but instead of probing him as to what was wrong she had just wrapped her arms around him. He'd liked that. It felt good not to have to explain every mood.

They'd had sex again. Pretty damn good sex at that.

He'd been wound tight so things had been less slow, less gentle but something seemed to have switched in Andrea. She was still rough with him. She had bitten and pounded him until his body was bruised and marked again. Hell, it would take more than one session of gentle stroking to deprogram her coping mechanisms—he wasn't some sort of kinky sex equivalent of Cesar Millan—but she seemed to be holding back at least, so that was a start right?

But it hadn't been all her fault. He had been so pissed at his weakness in phoning Abby when he knew what would happen that his good intentions of earlier had flown out of the window somewhat. At least he had come out of it without a bloody nose so he viewed it as an improvement in their relationship.

Their relationship?

He pondered that one.

So they'd moved it up a pace. Actually talking to the person you were having sex with was a healthier way to go but his instincts told him that they both should get as far away from each other as possible. Both had way too much baggage and they seemed to feed off each other's moods, which—giving the current air of mental instability they were both projecting—was probably not a good thing. But right now he suspected he needed her as much as she seemed to need him. That's why they had gravitated towards each other.

He swallowed his drink and poured himself another.

They were like two cripples dancing.

Where had he heard that expression?

Ahh, good old Jeff Buckley.

They were each holding the other up because if they didn't they'd both fall.

Damn, now he definitely knew why he shouldn't drink on his own. It was all way too deep and depressing.

Thanks, Mom.

He raised his glass in a silent toast.

He rubbed his eyes and gave a silent sigh. He'd felt so positive earlier. He'd managed to not take any Vicodine all day. He had drunk little—well little compared to what he had been drinking.

He'd actually felt a semblance of control returning, but after the bar he was back to square one.

Back to feeling like a weak, stupid loser.

The bottle had called and he'd taken a couple of tablets. Now he was comfortably numb again.

He was such an idiot calling Abby like that. Of course she would trace the call, that's what she did, but he forced himself to relax.

All Gibbs would know was that he was still in Leesburg.

That was it.

The studio audience laughed at something like it was the funniest joke ever told. It was amazing what people did if you held a card up and told them to.

* * *

Sandy had been most forthcoming about Tony and all it had taken was fifty bucks and a promise that her activities would not be curtailed. He didn't give a rat's ass about the faded hooker plying her trade.

What he did care about was what she'd revealed about the resident of the room down the hall. She hadn't known that he had a vested interest in DiNozzo. She thought she was informing on some con and that's what made it more brutal.

In her words he was a just a drunk, a junkie, clearly a sex addict because he was banging the woman in the room next at every opportunity—that had been faintly amusing to hear coming from someone who charged twenty bucks for a blowjob—but she'd talked and he'd listened.

She'd heard a commotion the previous night and gone to investigate. The low-life had overdosed. He'd been flat out on the floor with everybody flapping around him.

She had left them to it because she'd had an appointment waiting.

She didn't really get along with the other residents. 'Couldn't give a shit' had been her exact words. They were a bunch of ex-cons and screw-ups. She spoke like she was a cut above. She spoke with such a spiteful delight about Tony, a man who'd put his life on the line so people like her could sleep easy, that it made Gibbs' blood boil. He'd left her room feeling the urge to call vice, promise be damned.

Gibbs stood outside Tony's door and leaned against the walkways railings. He tried to collect his thoughts against the backdrop hum of the traffic on the freeway in the distance.

He knew his personality had its limitations when it came to the emotional side of things. Many had enlightened him of that fact—one wife with a golf club—so he knew he had to tread carefully. Especially since DiNozzo was as pigheaded as he was when it came to listening. But over the years they'd found that they usually managed to communicate well. He hoped that was still the case. It was strange—it had only been four weeks since they'd last spoken but it seemed like a lot longer.

What was obvious from what he'd learnt that Tony was clearly on a course of self-destruction and that couldn't continue.

He stood up and knocked on the door.

He could hear someone move inside. He steeled his features, remembering how shitty Tony had looked before he'd left, but even that didn't prepare him when the door finally opened.

Tony just didn't look like Tony.

Gibbs could smell the liquor on his breath. His pupils were unnatural dark twin pinpricks against the green irises.

He'd lost weight. A lot of weight.

DiNozzo had always had a muscular, sturdy quality about him but the man that stood in front of him was gaunt. There was no other word for it. The jeans he wore hung loosely on his hips. His stomach was concave.

Tony was pale, very pale. Gone was the typical olive Italian complexion but what shocked him most were all the welts and livid bite marks that marred the bare skin of his chest, arms and neck. Bruises of every color punctuated the thinness and stood out all the more because of the pallor.

If he'd looked like crap before this was a whole different level, and Gibbs felt way out of his depth.

He had rehearsed what he was going to say but that had all fled out the window. He couldn't help it. He was perplexed at how a healthy man could degenerate so quickly.

_"What the fuck have you done to yourself, DiNozzo?"_

The only answer he got was the door slamming sharply in his face.

**TBC**

**Did I tell you how much I love to hear from you??**

***big snogs with tongues* **


	12. Chapter 12

**A huge gold star to all that reviewed, prodded me and generally chatted to me. I've 'met' some fabulous people through this story! Thank you. :)**

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Chapter 12

When Tony opened the door the last person he'd expected to see was Gibbs.

His stomach liquefied and his chest tightened.

More than anything he felt exposed. He was very much aware that he was half naked and that Gibbs was looking at him like he was a bacteria specimen in a Petri dish. He couldn't take the look of disgust he saw staring back at him.

"_What the fuck have you done to yourself, DiNozzo?" _

Without even thinking about it he slammed the door shut. He did it partly through panic but mainly because he really didn't need to hear that shit right now.

Andrea was sitting bolt upright in bed.

"Who was that?" She wrapped the sheet around her body.

He ran his hands through his hair.

Fuck, fuck fuck.

"That was my boss and he's not going to go away anytime soon." He looked back towards the door.

"Your boss? What's he doing here?" She got up and started to gather her clothes.

He gave a mirthless laugh.

"I can guess. I suspect he wants to kick my ass for leaving like I did."

He pulled back the curtain and saw that Gibbs was leaning against the railings staring out at the car park.

He looked back at Andrea as she pulled on her pants and grabbed her shirt from the floor.

"You going to be okay?" She finger combed her hair.

"Yeah," he said even though his brain was screaming 'No' but he knew the confrontation was unavoidable.

"I'll give you some privacy. You know where I am if you need me."

She gave his arm a squeeze.

"Thanks. Leave the door open, would you?" He gave her a quick kiss and then disappeared into the bathroom pulling his tee over his head as he went.

He heard Gibbs enter. It sounded like he was walking around the room. He was probably looking for evidence of his debauchery. It was all there out on display -- pills, empty bottles of spirits and used condoms wrappers. All the clichés were there.

Tony peed then splashed his face several times with cold water. He contemplated just hiding in the bathroom until Gibbs went away but there was no way that was going to happen.

He unlocked the door and ignoring Gibbs he walked over to the table and re-filled his glass.

"Got another glass?" Gibbs asked.

He paused then poured a second and held one out.

Gibbs took it.

"Why are you here? Did my leave get cancelled and no one told me about it?" he asked.

"Nope." Gibbs looked kind of uncomfortable, looked out of his depth. That was a first. He found it empowered him to know that Gibbs was human after all.

"So I repeat, why are you here?' He swirled his whiskey around his glass. "Because as far as I'm aware I've got another six weeks off and you're not one to make social calls, especially to me."

"You left without telling anyone where you'd be." Gibb was staring at him again like he was a suspect he was trying to break.

Tony interrupted him

"I wasn't aware I needed to tell anyone and I'm sure the fact I didn't leave a forwarding address wouldn't be lost to a man with your investigative skills."

"We were worried about you, dammit." Gibbs was getting angry. That he could deal with. "And from what I've been hearing we've had good reason to be worried. You're drunk and high on God knows what…"

Tony knew he was baiting the man with his nonchalant questions and answers but he couldn't help himself. He was drunk and he felt cornered. He tilted his head to one side and answered.

"Yup, I'm drunk. But again, what business is that of yours? And yes, I do believe I am high…on medication that was prescribed to me by a doctor because in case you forgot I fractured my hip in the line of duty. So again I repeat, what exactly is your problem?"

He was being deliberately obtuse but he didn't care.

"My problem? Have you looked in the mirror recently, DiNozzo? Because from where I'm standing you're the one with the problem," Gibbs all but shouted, losing his cool.

Tony took a drink but didn't take his eyes off Gibbs. Nothing quite says you care more than a belligerent bellow. They were like a couple of stags getting ready to clash antlers.

He sighed.

"My only problem is the fact that you won't leave me in peace. I needed to get away, I did that and I'd have hoped you would have had the sense to respect the fact. But oh, no, the great Leroy Jethro Gibbs knows better. You really do like control, don't you? You can't bear the thought of someone thinking independently, especially when it goes against what you want."

"You really think that's the only reason I'm here?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah I do." Tony stood up and paced.

"I'm here because, believe it or not, we care about you, Tony."

Tony snorted.

"The words almost stuck in your throat then, boss. Opps, sorry, you're not my boss anymore, are you? You took my badge, remember?"

He sat down on the bed. He was being an asshole, but he hadn't asked for this. He wasn't going to roll over and give Gibbs an easy ride, let Gibbs get the upper hand like he always managed.

Gibbs rubbed his hand across his face. It must have been killing the man to actually talk like this.

"Why did you try and call Abby if you wanted to be left alone?"

Way to shift the conversation away from the prickly problem of his suspension. He was impressed. He took another swallow of his drink. It burned a line down his throat.

"Maybe I wanted to speak to someone who wouldn't judge me. But then I realized that Abby is very much under your thumb and would trace the call even if I told her not too."

Tony swallowed the rest of his drink down in one and picked up the bottle.

"Again, why exactly are you here? Because you sure as hell aren't here to give me a hug. You planning on dragging me back to Washington? Because I'm pretty sure there are laws against that…unless I'm being framed for murder again. Considering it's happened twice before I can't say I'd be surprised at a third."

"Don't be so damn flippant. I'm here because Abby hasn't stopped crying since you left," Gibbs snapped.

"Oh, that's a low blow."

Tony shook his head suddenly feeling deflated. He didn't like the thought of Abby being upset, especially over him. He drained his glass. Just thinking of Abby crying diffused a lot of anger that had been building. He ran his hand through his hair again and thought about what he wanted to say.

Gibbs was staring at him again.

He wished he wouldn't do that but he figured that Gibbs wouldn't take to being told to stand facing the wall because it was making him uncomfortable.

"You know, she did the same when you retired. I had to deal with it for six months but you know what? Did any of us go high-tailing it to Mexico to hassle you to come back? No. I respected the fact that you'd made your decision even if I didn't like it. It pissed me off no end that Ziva felt she had to call you out of retirement. That made me feel really valued but then they never did respect me as a leader. I suppose being told 'you'll do' wasn't exactly a glowing recommendation to inspire confidence in them. I got the job by default."

He was aware that his voice had taken on a tired quality but then he was tired, so damn weary all of a sudden. He refilled his glass ignoring the look Gibbs gave him. He could hear the slur in his words now but he didn't give a shit. At least Gibbs seemed to be listening.

"Oh, the glee on McGee's face when you came back. He was like a puppy with two-tails and ever since then he hasn't missed an opportunity to let me know I didn't cut it, but you know what really hurt? You just waltzed back in like you never been away, you dumped my stuff back on my old desk and bam, I was demoted. Kicked back to the bench."

Gibbs took a drink, Tony couldn't read his expression but the anger had gone from his face too.

"You never gave me any indication, any acknowledgement that I'd done a good job. Our solve rate didn't go down even though Jenny was using me as her own personal vendetta henchman. You know what it was like juggling my normal day job with the all the undercover work she was pushing my way? I was working my ass off to keep it together yet it wasn't good enough because I wasn't 'Gibbs' and boy did everybody love reminding me of that fact."

He ran out of steam. It all sounded petty when he said it out loud, like the whining of a child who hadn't got his own way but he couldn't help being upset by it. It had been festering for a long time.

"I'm sorry, Tony." Gibbs voice broke through his thoughts.

He couldn't quite believe that. He wasn't sure what Gibbs was apologizing for but it was a start. The last of tension he felt vanished. He hadn't been expecting Gibbs to actually apologize.

He held the bottle out to Gibbs; who took it and poured enough to cover the bottom of his glass.

They could sit there for hours talking over recriminations. Fault was there on both sides. He should have said something at the time. He'd wanted to punch Gibbs back then, wanted to punch him several times since he'd been working for him. Maybe if he had have done than he wouldn't be in this mess now.

"You know the one thing that always kept me going was being part of the team. But after you came back from Mexico I always felt like I was on the periphery. The more I tried to fit in the more I felt like an outsider. I think that's when everything started to go wrong. Jeanne, Paula, Jenny, I kept fucking up and no matter what I did, how hard I tried, everything just kept turning to shit. Taking my badge was probably the best thing you could have done because I really don't think I can do it anymore. I just don't think I have what it takes anymore, probably never did have."

He lifted his head and stared back at Gibbs. It was strange because until that moment he hadn't been sure of what he'd wanted but having to face up to it all just polarized it for him. He was done with NCIS, done with being a cop. He put his glass down and sat on his hands. The damn shakes were back, and he didn't need Gibbs to see that.

"Aw, hell, you're just strung out, Tony." Gibbs shut his eyes momentarily be fore opening them again. He'd seen the same look the day Kate had died.

"Boss, I mean it. Just the thought of going back…I can't do it," he whispered.

Gibbs put his glass down and started pacing.

"When I retired thought that's what I wanted. Drinking beer on the beach, nothing to do all day. It's what I needed at the time but I realized that wasn't me. You're a cop, Tony, that's what you do and you wouldn't be happy doing anything else…"

"But…" He tried to cut in but Gibbs held up his hand.

"As I said, you're strung out. You're in the middle of a damn breakdown right now, DiNozzo, but what happens when you come out the other side? Because you will, I know it. What then? You can't make that kind of decision when you're feeling like this. I know, Mexico would have damn well killed me through boredom a year down the line but I needed that time away and I guess you need that, too."

Tony blinked up at him. He couldn't process what was going on. One minute his boss was all piss and vinegar the next he was …well, not Gibbs. The man clearly had multiple personalities.

"The way I feel, I really don't think time will help. As you so kindly pointed out, I'm a basket case." Tony shook his head.

"Have you been not been listening, DiNozzo?" Gibbs looked up at the ceiling in exasperation. "Look, as you said you've got another six weeks. See how you feel then. If you need more time then I'll get that for you. Just don't burn your bridges because you're pissed off with the world right now."

"I'm sure Vance will just love that. The guy already has a major pickle up his ass over me."

"Let me worry about him." Gibbs smiled at that. He finished his drink and put the glass down on the floor. "You're a good agent, DiNozzo, and I don't want to have to train another."

"Was that a compliment? I think it was because I actually saw you clench your ass cheeks like you'd eaten something sour." Tony raised his eyebrows and laughed.

"Don't tell anyone or everyone will want one," Gibbs retorted. "I mean it, Tony. Take your time before you make a decision."

Tony took a deep breath.

"Okay….I guess that makes sense."

* * *

Abby narrowed her eyes and stared at the red dot on the screen.

Gibbs had found Tony!

She was sure of it.

There was no other explanation.

Why else would Gibbs have left McGee and Ziva at their hotel and gone off on his own? Why would the screen be showing his location as the Shangri-La motel for the past three hours?

Tony!

Well, there were two other possible reasons but she doubted either had legs. The first was the implausible scenario of Gibbs leaving his cell at the motel but that wouldn't happen. Gibbs broke his cells on a regular basis but she'd never known him to leave his cell behind….ever.

So that was out.

The other scenario was that Gibbs had picked up a Leesburg floozy and was currently dancing the horizontal tango in the motel room.

Possible, but unlikely.

The old silver fox still had a twinkle in his eye but not when he was focused on a case and he was definitely on Tony's trail like a bloodhound.

Nope, the only explanation was he'd found Tony.

She did a little dance around her lab, her pigtails flying as she punched the air as the last vestiges of tiredness vanished -- although that could be down to all the caffeine she'd consumed since she'd started monitoring Gibbs' cell.

* * *

They talked for a while, inconsequential stuff about cases and work even though he could see that DiNozzo was faking it and wasn't really interested. Gibbs just wanted to keep it light for a while.

DiNozzo was been all over the place emotionally, one moment angry, the next subdued but he clearly was flagging now. The drink making him slow, he was slumped against the headboard and Gibbs knew that he only had a small window of opportunity before the guy passed out.

"You going to stay here?" Gibbs couldn't help but look around the room with distaste.

If ever there was a place that did not represent DiNozzo it was The Shangri-La. Tony was a high-end kind of guy, designer clothes, minimal clean lines and chic restaurants. Roaches, ancient body fluids and mold spores were not what he equated to the Italian.

He watched Tony knowing already what the answer was going to be.

"Yeah, I'm not ready to go back yet." Tony said simply.

Gibbs paused again before asking the next question. Something he'd been dying to bring up since he'd arrived but he knew he had to tread carefully the way DiNozzo was right now.

"So, what happened last night?"

Tony lifted his head, his expression blank.

"Nothing much," came the nonchalant response.

Gibbs could feel the frustration return within him but he knew it was hopeless. If he got angry again then so would DiNozzo and they'd be back to sniping at each other.

"Not what I heard, Tony. Wanna tell me your side of the story?"

Tony shut his eyes and leant his head back.

"Not really, Boss."

Gibbs inhaled deeply.

"The way I heard it you took an overdose. That right?" He held his breath this time, hoping that the bitter hooker had got it all wrong.

Tony snorted and shook his head.

"Don't believe everything you hear. Do I look like a thirteen-year-old girl who wasn't asked to the prom? Trust me, if I had been trying to kill myself, pills would not be the method of choice."

"And that makes me feel better how, DiNozzo?" He couldn't help raising his voice.

"I drank too much and passed out. End of story. Contrary to what everybody seems to think, I am not suicidal. I did not, nor am I going to try and kill myself."

Tony's voice was too light, too incredulous.

"Not sure I believe you." Gibbs stared at him.

"Yeah, well that's your prerogative isn't it?"

Tony was getting defensive again. That in itself was telling.

"You know what I think, DiNozzo?"

"Not really, but you're going to tell me anyway, right?"

"I think you don't know what the hell you're doing right now. You're so busy telling yourself that you're okay that your subconscious is taking over and making decisions for you."

Tony gritted his jaw. Gibbs could see the line of muscle jump and tense.

"Thanks for that insight, Freud."

"Know what else I think? A whole lot of people would be damn upset if anything were to happen to you. I've got a pile of 'get well' cards in my desk for you, McGee has a heap of messages from your work phone from people trying to get in contact with you and a day doesn't go by when someone doesn't stop me and ask how you are doing and when you're coming back. Seems to me like you've got a lot of friends. Just don't shut them out, Tony. We are all here for you, you've just gotta ask for help."

Tony was quiet for a long time. His jaw was still working but gradually Gibbs watched the twitching relax.

"That was quite a Hallmark moment, Boss. Didn't know you had it in you."

The tone was typically flippant but the look in Tony's eyes told him that the words had partly got through. Whether it was enough or Tony would remember them come the morning he didn't know but it was a start.

Gibbs watched his eyes slide shut and just like that Tony was out for the count. He picked up the glasses and went to the bathroom to rinse them. Jesus, the place was worse in here, the damp smell was almost over powering. He was tempted to drag DiNozzo's drunken ass straight out of there and back to Washington but he knew that if he did it would probably undo the last hour's progress. Nope, he needed to back away, if he didn't then Tony would either run again or just hand in his notice and neither was acceptable to him.

He made sure Tony was comfortable, rolling the man down on his side and covering him with a blanket before he turned the lights off.

Gibbs picked up his coat and shut the door behind him.

Outside the door were four people, they all glared at him as he passed. The owner of the motel, the woman DiNozzo was obviously sleeping with, the guy that had lied to him about knowing Tony and a man that looked to him like he was doing his best to ingest or smoke every illegal substance known to man.

He glared back at them but couldn't help the smile that formed as he got to his car. It looked like Tony had quite a posse of people looking out for him. Although he wouldn't have chosen that ramshackle bunch to watch over his agent they seemed to project an air of protectiveness that was palpable. He should have known DiNozzo wouldn't have been on his own.

The guy was like a stray dog, you got annoyed with because it got in your trash and made a mess, it pissed you off with it's constant barking and would keep coming back no matter how much you shooed it away but the next thing you knew that dog was sat under your table on it's own blanket and you couldn't imagine your life without.

He looked up to see the young woman enter Tony's room. He felt better about leaving him but he also figured that Tony would be getting another visitor very shortly if his instincts were correct and that intrusion would probably do DiNozzo the world of good.

His gut was still twisting with the whole situation but it was in the lap of the Gods now or more likely the lap of a certain quirky and bouncy female.

He pulled away from the lot and grinned.

There was no way Abby hadn't been monitoring his movements for the past few hours and not come to her own conclusions. He almost called her to give her the go ahead but this way was best. Let her think she was on a covert mission of her own. Abby had been so down recently it would do her good to think she was getting one up on the team.

**TBC.**

**Love you all but I'll worship you if you speak to me!**


	13. Chapter 13

**I love you wonderful people. I'm a needy soul and you all stroke my ego so nicely! Seriously, thanks for all the lovely comments and encouragement you give. It really does help me. *big hugs to all***

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Chapter 13

Gibbs made his way towards the bullpen after his third run of the morning to the coffee cart.

They had arrived back in Washington early with Ziva and McGee bitching and moaning all the way.

They had been very vocal about the fact that they weren't going to be getting the chance to see DiNozzo but he was glad they hadn't. Hell, Ziva for all her talk of leaving him be, would have hauled Tony's ass out of that motel room without a pause if she had seen the state of him.

Nope, a meeting with DiNozzo would have only cemented their worry all the more. He was still rattled by it all but he also knew that he had to back away. Knew he had to take a big step back because if he pushed, the mood Tony was in right now he would push back twice as hard and they'd lose him for good. Tony would walk away from them all and his career without a backward glance.

Ziva and McGee would just have to deal with it. He was used to being the villain of the piece, so that was nothing new to him.

Being back on rotation would give them something else to focus on.

As he rounded the corner he saw Vance bearing down on him.

Great.

"Glad you could join us again, Agent Gibbs. I take it that lead on the cold case didn't bear fruit. Which case was it again?"

"I didn't say, and no, it's back to being a cold case. You know how these things often pan out, Leon."

"I tried to contact you several times but somehow we just kept missing each other." Vance smiled but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Both busy people. I figured if it was anything important you would have left a message," Gibbs responded.

He tried to make his escape but the director blocked his way.

"You wouldn't happen to know where Ms. Scuito would be."

"Her lab would be a good place to look."

"Apparently she put in for emergency compassionate leave late last night citing a family crisis. Yet when I tried to call her to offer my support, her phone goes straight to voicemail. Call me suspicious, but I'm sensing a pattern. My staff disappearing for days, being suddenly unreachable. It's making me nervous."

Vance stared him down but Gibbs just shrugged.

"I can't say I was aware of any problem, but Abby has a large family, her parents aren't getting any younger, could be any number of reasons why she felt she needed the time. Hell, that girl never takes time off, so I don't know you have any reason to complain when she does."

Vance frowned and chewed his cheek in lieu of a pick.

"I wonder if you can also help me out with another little problem I'm having. I've also been trying to contact Agent DiNozzo but again, he never returns my calls. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that either would you, Agent Gibbs? You see what I mean when I say I'm sensing a pattern here?"

Vance was staring at him intently and Gibbs stared right back, keeping his face impassive as possible.

"He's gone to stay with friends to recuperate."

"And he's not checking his messages from home or from his cell?"

Gibbs smiled blandly.

"He's in the mountains, no cell coverage and no land line."

"I find that strange in these days of global mobile communications. Maybe you can get him to mail me. I take it they _do_ have electricity up there in the mountains," Vance said sarcastically.

"Oh yeah, fully wired up …but no computer. Just a simple hunting lodge. DiNozzo's getting back to basics but I'll be happy to pass on a message for you the next time I see him."

Vance narrowed his eyes.

"No message, I was just checking he was okay. You see, I've been hearing some disturbing rumors from Metro about the Stryker case."

Gibbs kept his poker face on but his gut flipped. Damn, the man should have been busy kissing ass on the hill but Vance was a whole new breed.

"Aw, Leon, you know better than to believe rumors, especially from another agency. Lets face it, wasn't there some scuttlebutt after the last office shindig about you and Cynthia? Didn't listen to that rumor, none of my business, but people have a tendency to embellish things, twist things for their own ends, don't they?"

Gibbs smiled and swiftly walked away leaving Vance looking like he was ready to blow.

Shit, DiNozzo really did not need Vance on his tail right now, poking around. Suddenly he was very glad that Tony had been so thorough with his disappearing act.

He took a long swallow of his coffee.

He had a sudden thought.

He made his way as quickly as possible to the bullpen, where he wrote down a number on a memo pad and quickly handed it to a startled McGee.

"Trace this number."

McGee blinked at the paper.

"But this is Abby's cell."

Gibbs stared.

"But you knew that. On it, Boss."

Gibbs tapped his foot as McGee typed away.

"I don't understand it, um… no signal at all, Abby either has it turned off or has disabled the card. Why would she do that? She never has her cell switched off!" McGee looked confused.

The corner of Gibbs mouth twitched in a smile. Good girl, Abby. At this rate he'd have to buy her her very own Caff-Pow vending machine. Vance may have the scent but there was no way he'd be able to do anything about it now.

"Abby's taken a few days off," he said simply.

Ziva sat up and straightened her back.

"She is with Tony!" she shot out. "Isn't she?"

Gibbs didn't reply. Instead he sat down and picked up a file from his desk.

He could almost hear the silent cries of 'it's not fair' from across the floor.

Nope, life was not fair….not one bit.

* * *

Tony flipped through the channels on the ancient TV in his room. The screen was a snowstorm of pixels with the occasional glimpse of picture but he didn't have the energy to get up and give the box the heavy thump needed to clear the screen. As it was he had the volume muted. His head was pounding so much it felt like a pig was stomping around on his brain. He was seriously hung-over and it was all he could do to press the buttons on the remote. His coordination was shot but he felt like a weight had been lifted; not having to hide anymore or look over his shoulder whenever he went out would be a novelty.

On waking, he'd had to really concentrate hard in case seeing his boss had all been a dream or nightmare (depending on which part he remembered) but Andrea had confirmed that Gibbs had indeed paid a visit.

The whole event was kind of fuzzy in his mind. He remembered initially the feeling of wanting to punch Gibbs for his presumption. He remembered having to ball his hands underneath his ass to stop himself because he'd felt so angry.

He'd been an asshole, he also remembered that much. He'd deliberately tried to rile Gibbs, maybe subconsciously wanting his boss to snap so he could have a valid reason to retaliate, to relieve some of the pent-up aggression that seemed to come out of nowhere these days.

He didn't know what was wrong with him at the moment. One minute he'd be filled with such ennui that he could barely move; the next, hot explosive aggression -- as the punk who tried to rob him had found out. The crack of the slime-ball's wrist had been incredibly satisfying at the time.

The one thing that was very clear in his mind was telling Gibbs that he wanted to quit.

And he wanted to quit more than anything.

He knew that now.

Seeing Gibbs had slid the last piece if the puzzle in place and now all he felt was a strange inner calmness. How long that would last he didn't know, but right now it felt good.

He couldn't think beyond quitting, yet but everything had polarized in his mind now.

Gibbs had been right that day when he'd suspended him. If he stayed he would get someone killed, someone he cared about and he wouldn't be able to live with another death on his conscience. Having the shadow of Jenny following him around was bad enough.

Vance was going to get his letter of resignation as soon as he could get his ass into gear…to hell with what he'd told Gibbs.

* * *

Abby pulled into the parking lot and grabbed her spiky rubber backpack from the back seat. She checked that her skirt wasn't bunched up her ass and smoothed down her top.

God, this was exciting.

Fieldwork, she _never_ got out of the office.

She looked around. Hmmm, what now? The motel was built in a wide 'E' shape, a walkway wrapped around both floors of the structure. Concrete stairs led up to the second level. She was just contemplating her next move when one of the first floor doors opened. She watched the dark-haired man slowly walk down the stairs his head nodding to the beat of music from his i-Pod. He did a double take when he saw her. She was used to that, her wardrobe tended to attract attention. She smiled broadly and pushed her chest out as he approached.

The guy was in his late thirties wearing worn jeans and a black sweater, the spicy tang of weed hung around his clothes. She grinned as he ogled her long legs and boobs, again she was used to that, if she didn't want people to look she wouldn't put it on display. He pulled the tiny headphones out of his ears and smiled at her.

"Hi, I'm Abby." She fluttered her eyelashes at him, might as well use what she had to good advantage. "Can you help me? I'm looking for my brother, he's staying here. Tall, light brown hair, green eyes."

The guy's mouth dropped open as recognition struck.

"You're Tony's sister??"

She winked.

"We get that a lot… I take after my dad, Tony after our mom. I'm totally lame and can't remember what room he said he was in."

"I'm Bill, Tony's in room twelve." He pointed to the next room along from the one he'd exited. "You might want to knock first though."

He looked embarrassed and flushed red.

"Why's that?" She questioned. He was kind of cute when he blushed.

"Um….he was…um…" He gestured with his hands and widened his eyes.

She shook her head mystified.

"He was what?"

"He was getting lucky…um…very loudly earlier." Bill lifted up the headphones in his hands and winced.

She laughed.

Bill grinned back at her and waved as he took his leave.

If Tony was feeling frisky then things couldn't be that bad.

She made her way up the stairs as quickly as her New Rocks would allow. It felt like Christmas, the excitement was the same. She stood outside his room and knocked.

As soon as the door opened she flew.

"Tony!" She squealed.

Okay, so she miscalculated her velocity a little in her excitement and ended up literally knocking him off his feet. They crashed down in a messy heap on the floor, Tony flat on his back but still she didn't loosen her hold on him.

Only when she saw that Tony was turning a funny puce color did she scramble up off him and sat back on her heels.

Opps. Killing him had not been her aim.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Tony!" She squeaked, biting her lip.

He sat up and stared at her with a look of bemusement as he clutched his stomach and wheezed.

"I couldn't help myself. I missed you so much!" She blinked at him. "Are you okay? Please say I didn't hurt you? Did I hurt you??"

"Fuck…." He took a shaky, gasping breath in. "… just… winded ….me…Abs. Give me… a minute."

She watched as he tried to even his breathing. His arms wrapped around his torso and his legs stretched out in front of him.

She felt involuntary tears prickle at the corners of her eyes, she hadn't meant to hurt him but that wasn't the reason for her tears.

He looked bad, really bad, as in just recovering from the plague bad.

She was used to a brash and handsome Tony strutting around her lab or dancing at their favorite club. Immaculate hair and clothes but this was so far removed from that image.

This Tony looked chewed up and spat out.

She sometimes helped out the nuns at the soup kitchen for the homeless and the man sat in front of her wouldn't have looked out of place in line.

She used her sleeve to wipe her eyes hoping he wouldn't notice.

Who was she kidding? Of course he noticed. He looked up at her.

"Honestly, Abs, you didn't hurt me." His breathing was almost back to normal. He smiled but he looked so tired.

She chose to let him think that's the reason she was getting upset and launched herself at him again. She crawled into his lap and wrapped her arms around him more gently this time but still she clung on tight. She couldn't help but feel how thin he'd gotten.

"Tony, I missed you…don't ever do that again…promise me you'll never disappear like that again please!"

She sniffed hard, suddenly realizing that she was crying.

He cradled her body against his chest, one hand stroking her back while the other held the back of her neck.

"Shhh, shhh…It's okay, Abs…."

* * *

Ducky was busy writing a report at his desk when Gibbs entered autopsy.

"Jethro!" the medic boomed enthusiastically. "I hear you met with Anthony."

Gibbs quirked an eyebrow.

"Ahhhh yes, the jungle drums have already reached me…Ziva paid me a visit this morning as did young Timothy both declaring that you had no right to keep Anthony from them like you did."

"What did you say?"

"I told them that there must have been a valid reason for you to do so." Ducky sighed. "I take it he is not doing so well?"

Gibbs lent against the wall.

"Nope…he's going to quit and I don't think there is anything we can do about it."

"Did you try and talk him out of it?"

"No, I told him it would be best for the team if he didn't come back," he barked sarcastically and then felt guilty at the look that passed over his friend's face. "Of course I tried to get him to change his mind, Duck, but I really think he's beyond listening. He told me he'd think about it but he only said that to get me off his back."

"So where was he?"

"Jesus, he's staying in this motel just outside of Leesburg, it's little more than a damn flop house. He insisted he was staying, I didn't want to leave him there but I had to. He'd only disappear again if I pushed to hard."

"Anthony can be most stubborn at the best of times but I take it now more so than ever?"

Gibbs nodded and ground his teeth. Ducky had no idea that calling Tony 'stubborn' just didn't cut it anymore. It went way beyond that now.

"He's a mess. In my book he ought to be in hospital getting checked out."

Ducky straightened and a look of alarm spread over his face.

"What's wrong apart from the obvious?"

"He's not eating, he's dumped a lot of weight, drinking, taking a cocktail of pills from what I could see."

He shut his eyes to try and shake the image of a hollow eyed DiNozzo as he stood at that door, ribs clearly defined under the skin, battered and bruised like he was on a solo mission of self-destruction.

Ducky's voice broke through his thoughts.

"What aren't you telling me?"

Gibbs took a deep breath and paused before answering.

"He took an overdose, Duck."

Ducky was silent as he rubbed a hand over his face. He eventually spoke, his voice subdued.

"Oh, dear, I was very much afraid he might do something like that. Is he all right? Did he seek medical help?"

"Nope, people at the motel were covering for him. They knew we were looking for him so they didn't want to flag him up on any hospital list from what I can figure."

Gibbs saw a look of worry settle on Ducky's face and that rung warning bells in him.

"He needs to be examined, Jethro. Who knows what damage has been done to his liver and kidneys?"

Gibbs shut his eyes again. Dammit, he hadn't thought about that. He'd just been relieved that Tony appeared to be okay that he hadn't thought beyond that.

"I don't think that's going to happen. He's downplaying it, got angry as hell when I brought it up. Says he just passed out from too much booze but from what one of the other residents said he was found out cold on the floor with a bottle of Oxycontin next to him. From what I heard he needed a little intervention to get his heart started. That sound like he just passed out to you?"

Ducky's frown tightened.

"And there's no possibility that he'll come back here?"

Gibbs shook his head.

"I don't even know who Tony is anymore, Duck. I used to be able to read him but now I haven't a clue. I can't pull rank as he sees me as part of the problem. It's like he's given up on himself. He's so…so damn angry then the next breath he's as melancholy and pessimistic as hell. He's all over the place."

"All classic signs of depression, I'm afraid. Medication could help. Perhaps I should pay him a visit?"

Gibbs walked over to the other side of the office and grabbed the spare chair. He wheeled it over to Ducky's desk and sat down.

"Abby's with him right now."

"Ahhh, I wondered where Abigail had got to."

"She was the only one he tried to contact… I think she's probably what he needs now more than anything. He certainly wasn't overly pleased to see me."

Gibbs rubbed at an imaginary mark on his hand.

"Maybe she can get through to him."

* * *

Tony gave a tight smile and listened as Abby regaled the room with yet another heroic NCIS Tony story. It felt like she was talking about someone else. He remembered the cases but it was like he was an outsider eavesdropping on someone else's conversation.

Bill – who Abby seemed to have taken a shine to, Samuel, Andrea, plus a couple of people he didn't recognize but were apparently traveling salesmen from Detroit all sat in Una's cramped living quarters drinking coffee and hot chocolate and eating red velvet cupcakes care of their landlady. How this had come about Tony didn't have a clue but since Abby had arrived she had somehow managed to turn the place into a fucked-up version of the YMCA with group gatherings and activities. Abby just had that ability to bring people together and he just found himself being swept along by her tsunami of enthusiasm.

She had been at the motel for a mere forty-eight hours and he was exhausted. Totally bone tired. Abby seemed intent on filling every minute. They had been to the cinema, bowling, for long walks and out for food. How the hell that all had happened he had no idea.

One thing he did know was that Andrea and Abby made a formidable duo.

It actually scared him a little.

He'd been worried as to how the woman he was currently doing would react to finding the pretty Goth curled on his bed but Abby had been so open, so Abby-like, enveloping the stunned woman in a bone crushing hug the moment she'd walked through the door that Andrea had taken to her immediately.

And between them he was officially being mothered to death. It seemed like every moment he turned around one of them was forcing him to eat something, to drink orange juice, to take vitamins. It was driving him nuts.

But also with that burgeoning friendship came the gossiping …primarily about him. Abby delighted in telling Andrea things that he really preferred not to be in the public domain. Okay, so he'd done many things over the years that were highly amusing to a casual bystander but he couldn't bring himself to get too angry with Abby because firstly she was Abby and didn't have a mean bone in her body and she wasn't trying to deliberately embarrass him and secondly, for the first time since he'd known her Andrea seemed truly relaxed as she giggled with Abby over his many indiscretions. Abby had that effect on people. She made you feel special, hence the two traveling salesmen who'd suddenly found themselves included into the impromptu soirée in Una's den.

He was trying hard to get into the spirit of things. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. To them the life of a federal agent battling terrorists, arms dealers and murderers was exotic, exciting. This was nothing new. Usually he didn't mind her storytelling outside of the office because it helped him get laid. Tales of heroics worked better than pick-up lines in clubs and bars, especially when told by someone else. McGee had admitted that she did the same when they were out together. Abby told him she did it because she was proud of them and thought people should know what they'd done. It was just something Abby did.

But hearing it now just depressed him.

It was just another reminder of things he didn't want to have to think about now.

Every fiber of his being wanted to tell Abby to please shut the fuck up but he couldn't, wouldn't do that. He knew it would devastate her. It was just the way he was feeling right now and he didn't want to take his mood out on Abby.

So he smiled and acted like everything was peachy.

And he knew why he felt like yelling. You didn't need to be a genius to work out why Abby had every second of his day mapped out for him.

Distraction.

By doing so she made sure that he didn't have time to drink. His tablets had mysteriously vanished within hours of Abby turning up as had the bottles of spirits in his room. He was pissed off but again, that was Abby. He didn't expect anything less of her.

He didn't even bother calling her on it because he didn't want to have that conversation with her. They seemed to be engaged in a game of avoidance and denial ever since she'd turned up. If they didn't talk about the elephant in the room then it didn't exist. And his life right now was a fucking huge pachyderm complete with tusks.

He was going through enforced withdrawal, complete cold turkey care of Abby and there was nothing he could do because he didn't want to have to admit he had a problem. Plus it hadn't gone unnoticed to him that Andrea hadn't been hitting the bottle in the past forty-eight hours either.

If she could do it then so could he.

How hard could it be?

Fucking hard was the answer to that question.

He felt so damn cranky. Beyond cranky, if he was truthful. Everything was irritating the hell out of him. It seemed like his life right now was a perpetual carrousel of emotions he didn't like. Added to that he was hot and clammy, his joints ached like a bitch, he couldn't seem to stop yawning, the shakes had increased, he was constantly nauseous and he'd developed an irritating cough in the back of his throat. He felt like a walking ailment.

All in all he felt like crap.

He loved Abby but he really needed her to leave.

He felt like he was suffocating under a barrage of good intentions.

Tbc

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I love to hear from you. I do try to reply to each review and comment but sometimes I think I miss the odd one so I apologize for that if it appears like I've ignored you. I didn't mean to.

xx


	14. Chapter 14

**Thank you for all your comments and messages. Love you to bits and am sending you all your very own Abby hug virtually! XX**

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**Chapter 14**

Okay, he was officially intrigued. They currently sat in Abby's car an hour into a mystery road trip.

Mmmm, perplexing. She'd made sure he'd showered, shaved and worn a clean shirt before leaving so he doubted they were spending the day at a petting zoo.

It was Abby's last day. Her leave was up and work was beckoning. He could tell that she was getting jittery for Major Mass-Spec and was probably wondering if the temp scientist had messed with her babies in her absence.

He'd been surprised to survive the whirlwind that was Ms. Scuito.

When she'd first turned up he didn't think he would.

If he were honest, had it been anyone other than Abby inserting themselves into his life right now he would have blown long ago and told whoever to fuck off and leave him be. But Abby was a law unto herself. Her optimism rubbed off on you whether you wanted it to or not. The week had flown by, and he'd actually found himself relaxing into it.

He hadn't had a drink or taken anything stronger than aspirin since Abs had arrived on his doorstep.

Even though no words had been spoken about his drinking and pill popping, in just a week her unwavering faith in him had gradually worn him down until he really believed that he could do it. He still found himself craving the numbness his excesses had given him but he now felt like giving them up wasn't a totally unachievable goal. He was just taking it a day at a time. Having Andrea along for the ride helped. Being with someone who was struggling as much as he was made him feel less of a failure.

Seven days and he'd gone from wishing Abby would leave to now dreading how he'd feel when she did.

He looked out the window at the passing scenery.

"Where are we going, Abs?"

"You'll see." Abby pursed her lips.

Okay, so no clues. He smiled.

"How are you feeling?" she suddenly asked.

"Good, thanks," he replied automatically. "I don't feel like I have an angry Grandma shoving a six inch knitting needle into my hip anymore so I'm good."

He kept the fact that he still felt like he was running a fever and could hurl his breakfast at any moment to himself and smiled at Abby.

"Okay," her husky voice replied.

Ahh, they were still playing the ignorance is bliss game.

He was a coward and on shaky ground as it was. His coping mechanisms were still shot and he was aware he was taking baby steps when it came to regaining his control. Each time he lied, he fully expected to get called on it. They had yet to have a conversation that approached anything remotely personal and that was beginning to freak him out a little.

If there was one person who could read him like a book, it was Abby. She always spoke her mind so it was kind of like being with alt-world version of her. Washington Abby would have kicked his ass by now.

She reached over and squeezed his hand.

He squeezed her hand back and stared at the dashboard in an attempt to quell the beast inside. He really didn't want to have to ask her to pull over so he could upchuck.

He must have drifted off because he awoke with Abby gently shaking his shoulder. He blinked several times and surreptitiously wiped a hand over his face to obliterate any drool that he might have on his chin.

"We here…wherever here might be?" He spoke through a yawn.

"Yup."

Okay, now he couldn't help notice that Abby looked a little anxious now. Warning bells were sounding in his head. He stared at the terracotta-colored building they'd pulled up to. There was a sign outside declaring the place as Sunshine House.

Sunshine House? If Abby was trying to talk him to joining some kind of happy, clappy Moonie cult he was out of here.

"Come on." She linked her arm through his and pulled him towards the doors.

The unique smell of hospital assaulted his nose the minute he crossed the threshold — that blend of antiseptic and disinfectant mixed with unappetizing food smells.

He put the brakes on and glared at Abby.

No fucking way.

"Please, Tony." She pulled his hand.

"Abs," he warned and yanked his arm out of hers.

He turned and was halfway to the door when he heard a cheerful voice behind him.

"Are you Tony? Abby said you were coming to play with us!"

He turned and saw a little boy no older than five wrapped up in a Winnie the Pooh robe. Tony's jaw clenched as he took in the fact that he had no hair, no eyebrows and was holding onto a drip stand. His face had the unnatural rosy glow of illness about it. He was beaming up at him expectantly. To add insult to injury several more kids appeared and looked as equally excited to see him.

He looked over at Abby and glared. She just grinned at him and nodded towards the children.

This was a fucking ambush.

A nurse approached them and called a greeting and hugged Abby tightly, giving him no doubt that Abs was a regular here.

He had two choices. One was to yell at Abby and walk away and the other choice? Well, the other choice was already placing a small clammy hand inside his and looking up at him like he was the second coming. Other excited kids were surrounding him all talking at once.

"Abby said you like games…"

"Can you play Candyland with us…"

"Oh, oh and she said you could tell stories…can you tell us a story?"

He looked over at Abby as he was herded away. She looked sheepishly at him but there was also something else there behind her eyes. Something he couldn't read. He plastered a smile on his face and allowed the kids to drag him into what looked like a day room filled with toys and books.

He played 'Go Fish,' he played 'Happy Families' and many other games that went by in a blur of colored plastic and noise. He was clambered on, pulled around and generally abused until he had to cry Uncle.

He listened as they spoke in a matter-of-fact way about their illnesses, explaining medical terms to him that had no right coming out of mouths so young. He listened and could honestly say that he was lost for words.

Haunted parents hovered in the periphery, the strain showing on their faces.

It didn't take him long to work out what this place was. It wasn't a hospital, it was a tragic fucking waiting room.

They were all dying yet they all had one thing in common. Each had an inner energy for life no matter how ill and tired they were. They still wanted to play; they still wanted to be kids even though they had been forced by circumstance to grow up far too soon.

Jesus, one solemn little girl had proudly shown him her chest drain while clutching a fucking stuffed frog.

At that moment he hated Abby. Really hated her.

But he smiled and hugged and horsed around even though he didn't get along with kids. Even though he really didn't like kids.

A short while later several nurses came into the room and started shepherding them away for naps and treatments.

He waved and responded to their pleas that he'd come back soon.

With a face like thunder he walked right past Abby and ignored her calls.

He needed air.

Now.

In the car park the nausea he'd been feeling all morning finally won out.

He bent double and spattered the asphalt. He heaved and heaved, acutely aware that in the silence of the morning it sounded like someone was torturing a cat. It was only when he finally stopped that he realized that a hand was rubbing his back and a voice was muttering soothing words in his ear.

Abby gently steered him away from the vomit towards the car in silence. He stood for a moment not sure of anything then slid down the passenger door until his ass hit the ground.

Eventually, Abby spoke.

"I brought you here because—"

He cut her off.

"I get it, Abby. I need to get my head out my ass. I'm a self-absorbed, selfish —"

"No…No! Do. Not. Finish. That. Sentence. Buster."

She sounded angry and exasperated with him.

"Before you joined NCIS, I used to let things get to me. I'd get so down that it was all I can do to drag my ass into work — and you know how much I love my work — so that's how bad it used to get. But then one day Sister Rosita brought me here. It's a horrible place but it's also beautiful because there is so much hope. Just seeing how those kids handle everything that's been dealt them made me proud to be alive and kind of put my problems into perspective. It helps me to realize there are people far worse off than me, and I think it'll help you. You're one of the kindest, most empathic people I know, Tony. I know you don't let people see that side of you but it's true. The kids are always so happy to see new people, people that aren't their parents or the doctors or nurses. So now whenever feel like shit because I have to troll through a pervert's laptop looking at kiddy porn or I'm under some car that some asshole has blown apart I come here."

"But you're one of the happiest people I know, Abby. You're always so damn optimistic," he muttered.

"Oh come on, Tony. I'm a fucking Goth! We carry the weight of the world on our shoulders."

She gave a low throaty chuckle.

"You didn't know me through my depressive stage, DiNozzo. Oh, it was baaad. I listened to The Smiths constantly and walked around like the world was about to end but the difference between us is that I relied on my friends. I talked to them. I let them in. I'm one of your best friends, Tony, and not once did you come to me and to be honest I feel pretty pissed at you. Do you honestly think I'd bring you here to give you a guilt trip? I did not do it because I think you are being self indulgent, Tony. You've had more shit thrown at you the past few years than anyone deserves, I'm surprised you haven't gone Tonto before now. You don't work in an environment that is conducive to good mental health, getting shot at and blown up. I don't know how you guys do it."

She snuggled into him.

"I'm worried about you. We all are but me especially because I know you and I know how much you are hurting and I know how much you are hiding from me right now. Andrea talks a lot, you know. She's told me everything. Tony, I don't want to lose you. Promise me that you won't do anything stupid again. I couldn't deal with that…I couldn't…"

He stared steadfastly at his shoes checking to see if they'd managed to escape the puke fest.

"Tony?"

Yup, they seemed to be okay.

"Tony, please look at me."

Nope. Couldn't do that right now because….because…

Abby's arms were suddenly around him and he found himself crying like a fucking little girl.

It wasn't pretty.

Certainly not like the movies where invariably if the masculine hero of the piece broke down it was a few manly tears he would quickly dash away and then continue on with his dignity intact.

Nope.

He was grabby and needy.

Burrowing into her neck like a frightened kid.

There was snot, a lot of snot.

And he couldn't help it. He didn't even know what he was crying for.

Kate.

Paula.

Jenny.

Jeanne.

His mother.

The little girl with the frog.

He couldn't remember the last time he had actually cried and it was like the floodgates had opened.

After what seemed like an age he eventually managed to control himself and pulled away from Abby. He felt as embarrassed as hell. He sniffed and used his sleeve in lieu of a tissue to wipe his nose.

Abby looked stricken. Whether it was because of the creases he'd put in her shirt or because she was now terrified he had finally snapped, he didn't know.

They sat in silence, and he was acutely aware of the cold ground seeping through the ass of his jeans but moving seemed impossible.

Abby laced her fingers through his and squeezed tight.

"Sorry, Abs,"

She smiled at him and with a flick of her pigtails she sprung up.

"Come on. My posterior has gone numb. I think we need food…Oh! I want a milkshake!"

He couldn't help but laugh.

Only Abby could respond to someone spectacularly breaking down on them with a hankering for strawberry milk.

As she hauled him upwards he suspected that this latest emotional clusterfuck had been what Abby had been waiting for since she'd turned up.

Let's face it; nothing broke down barriers quite like leaving a trail of snot on a friend's shoulder.

And the strange thing was it had actually felt good to let all that emotional baggage go.

To actually let it all out after years of keeping it all wound tight inside.

* * *

They sat in a diner eating hamburgers and drinking malted milks.

And they talked.

It hadn't been as bad as he expected. Abby was a good listener, always had been, and he felt ashamed at shutting her out.

He couldn't understand now why he'd done so.

This time when he promised to think hard before handing in his resignation he actually meant it because her eyes had filled up with tears.

For her he would hold off writing that letter because he realized that not working with Abby and seeing her cheerful face would be one of the main things he'd truly miss if he left NCIS.

She also made him promise to not fuck it up with Andrea.

He'd gone quiet over that one and her radar had gone into overdrive. He sat through a mini lecture on commitment and the need to settle down eventually because apparently he couldn't tomcat around forever.

He thought about letting it all go over his head but in the spirit of openness they were now sharing he didn't.

So he told her how he couldn't realistically see a future with Andrea. If they could both move on from the shit in both their lives, they would always just be stuck in a holding pattern and he knew the old habits would resurface again. Just like his drinking went in cycles so would they. It might take a bad day at work or something as stupid as the washer not working or an argument between them and they'd be back to square one. Back to the rough sex, back to her beating the crap out of him and him letting her.

It took a lot to shock Abby but he could see by the look on her face he had managed it. She reached over and unbuttoned his shirt. She ran her fingers over the bruises and scars.

He could see it all crystallize for her then at that moment as it dawned on her that whatever he was going through now it went far beyond an adult hissy fit. He did up his shirt and kissed her hand.

He then noticed the steel in her eyes. Crap. Abby was intending to protect her cub newfound friendships be damned.

He told her it would be okay, he could handle it.

When that didn't work he brought up Gibbs. He was the strongest person they knew but losing his wife and kids had affected the man in ways they could never know. Andrea wasn't a marine used to seeing death at close quarters; she was a normal woman who was doing the best she could by any means that took.

The fire still remained in her eyes but she tried to hide it by concentrating on her milkshake.

Now he knew why he was never 100% honest with people….it only opened up a can of worms.

**TBC**

Comment and I'll try to write the next chapter super speedily! :)


	15. Chapter 15

Sorry this has taken so long but it is a whale of a chapter! Thanks to all for the wonderful comments and mails. Love you all. Can I just ask, has anyone else had problems with comments disappearing and reappearing here at FFnet or is it just me?

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**Chapter 15**

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That Sunday McGee checked Abby's cell for what seemed like the thousandth time in the past week.

Still switched off.

He threw his phone down on the couch and sighed.

* * *

Ziva slumped down in the seat and watched the road.

Two hours and still no sign of Abby.

She pulled her coat around her and hunkered down for the duration.

She could be patient when needed.

* * *

Gibbs refreshed his coffee with the hot iron he used on his boat and chomped down on some cold toast. It had gone soggy but that was okay, it filled a hole. He wiped his hands on the back of his jeans then picked up a chisel and a hammer and set to work.

Although he had yet to hear from Abby he had no doubt that she had spent the past week with Tony.

The fact that DiNozzo's gun and badge had mysteriously disappeared from his desk was a big giveaway. He knew the way Abby's mind worked, knew why she'd felt the need to take them and although it made him nervous to think that Tony had his gun he kept telling himself that if DiNozzo was going to off himself he'd manage it with or without a gun anyway.

He had every faith in Abby.

She probably knew Tony better than anyone and maybe he did need a reminder of who he really was.

* * *

To prolong her trip Abby had put off leaving until the last possible moment. They had spent the time watching TV curled up on the bed until Tony had eventually fallen asleep. She had snuggled up next to him listening to him snore softly then with a kiss on the forehead she had snuck out, not wanting to wake him because she knew she would start to blubber and not want to leave.

She had gone straight to her lab. After a couple of hours sleep on the floor with Bert as a pillow she was now checking that all was well with her world. At first glance all her calibrations seemed to be intact and everything was where it should be. Whoever had subbed for her seemed to treat her lab with respect unlike the last time she had taken a vacation.

Abby picked up the can of anti-static polish and a yellow duster. With her music on she lovingly started to wipe down her babies.

It was good to be back, although she was already missing Tony.

She wondered of it was still too early to call him.

She was still pondering on that fact when the stampede started.

First Ziva, then McGee, Ducky next, apparently on the pretext of borrowing a bottle of anti-bacterial hand-wash even though she knew he had a shelf full of the stuff.

They all swarmed and talked at once, asking questions until her head spun.

An ear-piercing whistle broke through the chaos.

"Hey!" a voice bellowed.

Gibbs stood with Caff-Pow in hand and an expression on his face that broached no argument. He jerked his head towards the door behind him and everybody slinked out.

He waited until the door shut before he spoke. He held out the huge cup.

"How is he, Abs?"

* * *

Tony snorted loudly enough to wake himself up. He sat bolt upright and cleared his throat and rubbed at a crick in his neck.

Shit, he'd fallen asleep.

He looked around the room hoping to see Abby although the light streaming through the curtains told him it was already morning and she would be back in Washington by now to start the working day.

There was a pile of stuff in a neat stack on the side of the bed that definitely hadn't been there the night before. He untangled himself from the blankets and reached over.

There was a letter neatly placed on top. He ripped open the envelope and read Abby's looped handwriting.

_Tony_

_Here are a few things I thought you needed._

_Now there is no excuse not to keep in contact and if you ignore my calls or mails then I'll be coming for you and believe me it will not be pretty._

_Call me if you need to talk …anytime… day or night. _

_Call me even if you don't need anything._

_CALL ME!_

_Love you_

_Abby._

_XX_

_P.S Just thought you'd want to know that Gibbs never filed any paperwork so right now you are still legally an NCIS agent. _

There on the bed sat a laptop and various cables, his cell phone and wallet. He had to smile at the pile of hair gel; moisturizers and cologne that Abby had obviously ransacked from his bathroom at home but it was the two items right on top of the bundle that made his heart beat faster.

Tony tentatively ran his fingers over both.

He picked up his gun and turned it over in his hands. He placed it on his nightstand then flipped open his badge and stared at the shield.

He'd worked so damn hard to carry a badge. It had been the ultimate in a one-fingered salute to his father.

Why the hell hadn't Gibbs filed any paperwork after he'd suspended him?

He wasn't prepared for the rush he felt at seeing the raised gold emblem.

He sighed and placed it down next to his gun.

* * *

Gibbs returned to the bullpen feeling more optimistic than he had for a while.

Abby had been totally unapologetic for running off to Leesburg like she had. He'd given her a light ass kicking for going off half-cocked but both knew that was purely for show and she seemed to appreciate the gesture.

That over with she talked …and talked as she slurped.

The fact that DiNozzo had managed to lay off the booze and pills for a week was encouraging. He knew that Tony wasn't an alcoholic. He was just someone who used drink as a crutch at certain times of his life. Gibbs saw all the signs, knew them well. Whether he'd keep up that level of abstinence was now up to him. Abby had certainly made more progress than he had at drumming some sense into that thick skull.

Other aspects of Tony's life down in Leesburg he was less enthused about. Abby had been pretty upset about the more unsavory side of Tony's vacation. Pacing up and down the lab, arms flailing as she ranted about Andrea and what Tony was letting her do to him. As much as he didn't particularly relish hearing details about Tony's sex life, certain things slid into place.

Gibbs couldn't rationalize what he knew of the man with what he was hearing but he couldn't refute the evidence he'd seen with his own eyes -- the bruises and split lip. He just hadn't expected them to come from a woman. He'd naturally assumed that Tony had been picking fights in bars. The guy sure could piss people off like no other when he wanted to, so it had been a conclusion that seemed the most logic at the time.

At work DiNozzo had a natural tendency to put himself in situations that resulted in injury after injury. He managed to get himself knocked out more times than he thought possible, but letting a date pound on you was not something he'd thought an alpha male like DiNozzo would allow.

That was screwed up.

But Abby had been emphatic that although she didn't like the thought of anyone hurting Tony, he did at least have a modicum of sense to know that it was wrong. That was at least something. Gibbs had to content himself with that for now, but he liked the situation about as much as Abby did.

There was no denying it. DiNozzo's psyche was more complex than even he had realized.

He lifted his head up from his computer and saw that both Ziva and McGee were both furtively looking his way. They were like twin meerkats peering at him over their respective screens.

"Go on then….go!" He shook his head.

They both shot up and scurried towards the elevator. It looked like Abby would have to put off her cleaning a little bit longer.

* * *

Tony spent the day with Andrea, lazily walking around town and people- watching, distracting themselves by any means possible. Without Abby around to entertain them it was hard not to slide back into old ways.

That evening they ended up at a French restaurant. Now that he had his wallet back, it felt good to be able to take her somewhere other than the local diner, and he told her so. Even so she balked at the exorbitant prices and tried to order the cheapest things on the menu. He put his foot down and vetoed her soup and salad order.

They ordered oysters on the half shell followed by steak and béarnaise sauce.

Tony ignored the faint look of superior disgust the Sommelier gave when he waved away the wine menu and asked for sparkling water for them both. It wasn't quite the same as a decent full-bodied Merlot or Margaux but he didn't want to be the one to fuck up their week on the wagon just because he wanted to impress a glorified waiter.

It felt good to do something as normal as sit in a decent restaurant and joke with each other.

It felt comfortable.

He'd paid the bill and as the weather was frigid outside he hailed a taxi outside to take them back to the motel. Pretty much as soon as the car pulled away Andrea slid herself over to his side of the cracked naugahyde seat and started to kiss him.

Hmm, the chocolate fondant he'd insisted on ordering for her dessert must have really hit the spot if it made her feel frisky enough to jump him in a cab. Not that he was complaining.

He lost himself in her mouth as his pants became a lot less roomy than they had been five minutes before. There was something about the back seat of a car that made his blood pump, memories of primal teenage years screamed into focus at the first squeak of the faux leather and the first furtive grope.

As much as he was enjoying the impromptu make-out session he did have enough brainpower left to stop her when she tried to pull down his zipper. He was vaguely aware that the driver's eyes spent way too long checking out the rear-view mirror as it was and there was no way he was going to add to the show. He smiled into her mouth and pulled her hands away from his groin. She grinned at him mischievously.

They pulled up outside the motel and Tony threw a handful of dollars at the driver then followed Andrea her into her room.

Three hours and what seemed like half the Karma Sutra later he was boneless and she was purring like a kitten. It had been odd not to be bombed out of his skull during sex with her but there was no denying that it had certainly been more productive and less 'wham bam thank you Ma'am'. He wasn't sure which he preferred, to be honest. He'd gotten so used to compartmentalizing his life that the normality of it all in hindsight was freaking him out a little. He shoved that thought aside and just relished the warm post-orgasmic bliss.

Maybe she caught his shift to a more reflective mood because for the first time she actually opened up to him. She talked about her children, telling him the truth this time. He held her as she cried and didn't say a word because he figured that was what she needed. More than empty, useless platitudes, she just needed someone to listen as she relived the whole nightmare.

He wished he could say he was more affected by her story but he'd been to too many crimes scenes involving children, seen firsthand the many varied and horrific injuries that so-called loving parents meted out. At least carbon monoxide was quick and relatively painless; they would have both just drifted off in an endless sleep. He knew that it wasn't a good reaction when the first thought you had was that gassing children was one of the better ways to kill, but that's what happened when you'd spent twenty-odd years doing what he did.

He was so jaded and he fucking hated that. He never used to be that way.

She talked at length about her husband. Apparently her parents had never liked him, had tried to warn her about the type of man he was but she hadn't listened. She knew better. She was in love. He'd caused a rift and she'd let him and by the time of the divorce too much water had gone under the bridge and she couldn't contact her parents.

She couldn't bear to hear them to say those four little words.

Now it was too late. Too many months had gone by, too many angry words spoken. They must hate her. They probably blamed her for not taking better care of their grandchildren.

He doubted very much that her parents felt anything other than worry for her. From what she said she had always had a good relationship with her parents pre-asshole. Certainly Andrea spoke with a sad wistfulness when she spoke of them that he could never feel in a million years for his father.

Tony understood that no one liked to hear 'I told you so' when you'd screwed up but to separate yourself from your family at a time when you needed them most?

Just proved what he'd always known …'family' was a complicated beast.

What became apparent to him were the tentative plans she was making for the future. She felt so much better, more together than she had for a long time, and it was all because of him.

He muttered that she was stronger than she thought she was. He really had had nothing to do with it but she refuted that. She happily told him about what a great guy he was. Normally his ego loved to hear such stuff from a woman, but he wasn't sure he was that man anymore. Now he just felt embarrassed.

She eventually talked herself out and fell asleep but he found himself wide-awake. He tried to wind down but his head was buzzing with thoughts and images.

Great… without the alcohol and drugs to knock him out, his insomnia had well and truly returned.

He dressed as quietly as he could and slipped out of her room and into his.

He sat down on the bed and started up the laptop. He logged onto his private e-mail account and was shocked to see just how many mails he had. He trashed the spam and advertisements and started working his way through.

Amongst the usual missives from past girlfriends and frat buddies he saw that Tim, Ziva, and Abby had all sent him numerous messages in the weeks immediately after he bailed. Even Palmer and Ducky had tried to contact him but what really surprised him was seeing the name LJ Gibbs coming up in his inbox. He hadn't been aware that his boss even knew e-mails existed outside work, and he certainly didn't think that his boss knew his private mail address. In stark contrast to the other messages, though, Gibbs' were curt and to the point -- just like the man himself. No flowery pleas, just firm orders to get in contact. He had to smile at that.

He skipped through the emails and deleted as he went, feeling like a selfish bastard as he did so. Abby's had gotten increasingly desperate, McGee's more tentative and apologetic about things he may have said or done that had caused offense.

Ziva's were actually quite endearing. She wrote about cases they had, about inconsequential things as if he had not had a meltdown but just popped out for coffee.

He spent the next couple of hours responding firstly to Ziva and then McGee.

He thought long and hard about how to deal with McGee's mails.

What had always rankled was the fact that McGee hadn't figured out that he never fooled around when it mattered. Gibbs had been perceptive enough to see that out from day one, but Probie had never noticed that he had two very separate personas at work and was able to separate one from the other at the drop of a hat. Hell, there was no way that he'd have lasted so long on the team, let alone have made senior agent, if he was as flaky and unprofessional as McGee seemed to think he was. And the stupid thing was he liked McGee. Always had done and although Tony knew he could be a pain in the ass he couldn't work out why the guy often had a stick up his ass when it came to him.

He sighed. It didn't really wasn't important, really didn't matter anymore, seeing as he wasn't going back.

In the end he fell back into his old holding pattern of humor and had settled on sending McGee a sarcastically funny and rambling description of his landlady and ignored the issues McGee had brought up.

He then sent an email to Gibbs simply asking if his car was still parked at the Navy yard. Not particularly profound or thought-provoking but Gibbs would read between the lines and know that he was just signing in.

He made himself a cup of coffee and then sat back down on the bed and opened up a new word document.

Twenty minutes later his letter of resignation was done. He'd have to ask Una if she'd print it off for him so he could sign it and get it sent off to Vance. She must have a printer lurking somewhere in the office.

Next he ordered a dozen long stem roses to Abby at the Navy yard.

It was approaching dawn by the time he'd finished so he made another coffee and with his hands cupped around the heat he went outside to watch the sun come up over the freeway.

* * *

McGee was perplexed.

He read and reread the mail as he sat in his boxers and ate his bowl of cornflakes.

It was friendly, the tone upbeat but it sounded contrived to him.

It was a classic case of style over substance.

It was pure old-school Tony but it said absolutely nothing. It was devoid of anything remotely personal. He'd seen how upset Abby had been all day. Things must have been bad with Tony even though she wouldn't go into specifics with them.

He didn't quite know what to think.

* * *

Ziva smiled.

She felt suddenly happier at the email in her inbox. It wasn't much but after weeks of silence at least it was something.

* * *

Gibbs was the first in the bullpen. He started his ritual deleting of any e-mails he considered pointless or useless.

Seeing Tony's name amongst them made him squint at the screen.

He nodded when he read the one line.

He replied with a deliberately to the point one word.

"Nope."

DiNozzo's damn car currently sat on his drive with a cover over it -- but if he wanted to find that out he'd have to get back in contact.

* * *

Tony only managed to catnap for an hour before he gave up.

He picked up his cell and dialed.

The voice on the other end was way too cheerful for the hour.

"Special Agent Dean."

"Hey, it's Tony."

He heard an excited little meep on the other end.

"DiNozzo! How you been? Gotta tell you it's been damn quiet around here without you! What can I do for you this fine and sunny morning?"

Simone Dean was a senior agent who'd been around as long as he had. They had dated back in the day but had managed to stay friends despite that. Even still slept together when the mood took them.

"What makes you think I wanted something? Maybe I just wanted to hear your sexy dulcet tones?" He grinned down the line.

"Yeah, right! How are you? You've been off for ages." She laughed.

"I'm good. Bored but good. You know how it is. Um…I need a small favor."

"Go on."

"As I said I'm bored…just looking through some files and I need some Intel on someone."

There was silence the other end.

"And why may I ask aren't you asking one of your team?"

There was a reason Simone was a senior agent -- nothing got past her.

"Because I'm supposed to be resting and not looking at old files and Gibbs has already kicked my ass for ignoring his orders."

It wasn't strictly a lie.

"Come on, please? Pretty please…I'm down on my knees."

"You know I could never resist you when you're down there DiNozzo. You're such a cunning linguist," she purred.

He gave a dirty chuckle.

"Okay, what do you need?" He could her shuffling around on her desk probably grabbing a pen and pad.

"Andrea Woodhams, thirty-three, Caucasian. Husband Malcolm killed her two children eight months ago in Baltimore. I need some Intel on her parents."

"Okay. I'll see what I can do but you owe me -- and I will collect." She was silent for a few seconds. "How are you really, Tony? Because I've been hearing some heavy shit bouncing around here about why you were signed off."

He ran a hand over his face and forced his voice to stay light.

"Ohhh, I'm being gossiped about, am I? You know what Oscar Wilde said about that: There is only one thing in life worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about."

When there was no response, he continued.

"Seriously, Simone, there is no story. I had shit loads of sick leave backed up and the general consensus was I'd drive the whole floor nuts if I was tied to my desk for weeks doing paperwork -- an accusation I totally refute by the way-- so I was gently coerced by Gibbs to choose the option that would apparently save everyone's sanity. I've got a busted hip, end of story, and I'm totally enjoying kicking back and watching TV in my underwear. Hey, wanna come over and check out my crutches?"

"I'll take a pass for now, DiNozzo," she laughed. "Talk to you later."

He ended the call and flopped back on the bed. Should have known that the whispers would have started but again, what did he care. He was outta there. Letter all typed up. Now all he had to deal with was the pressing problem of what he would do with his life now.

Maybe he could be a mall cop, spending his days arresting shoplifting teens and rowdies.

Coach?

He was qualified.

Okay, apart from that he was coming up with nothing.

A gigolo?

He threw his cell up in the air and caught it.

On reflection he wasn't convinced he'd be able to get it up if faced with a barrage of botoxed and lifted septuagenarians. Sexy blond twenty-something's didn't have the need to pay for sex and he doubted if you could pick and choose who you slept with.

So he was back to the rent-a-cop or coach options.

He spend a while mulling over the rather meager choices and almost fell off the bed when the cell he'd been throwing in the air began to ring.

"That was quick!" he blurted into the phone.

"I aim to please," Simone answered. "Art and Marion Woodhams, still living in Baltimore. Married forty years. Independently wealthy. Pay their taxes on time, pillars of the local community. She does voluntary work for several charities, and he is a retired banker. Only bad mark against them is that they are a fly in the ointment of the Baltimore PD. They filed a missing persons report over their daughter and have been bugging the force regularly since. Cops say she's an adult and not considered a high-risk disappearance, so not a priority. They think differently. Apparently they've placed ads and put up posters offering a reward for information, but so far nothing. That's about it."

Tony grabbed a pen and the envelope that Abby's letter had come in.

"Got a number for them?" He spoke around the pen lid in his mouth.

She read it to him and he scribbled it down. He spent a few minutes shooting the breeze before she got called away.

He got up and walked around the room for a couple of circuits to gather his thoughts.

He picked up the cell again and dialed. After several rings a softly spoken woman came on the line announcing herself.

In less than a minute Andrea's mother was crying uncontrollably. Her father came on the line demanding to know what he'd just said to upset his wife so much. So he calmly repeated that he'd seen a poster and he knew where their daughter was. It sounded like Art was getting as choked up as Marion had. Tony gave the address for the motel. Andrea's father tried to take his name, mentioning the reward. He replied that it wasn't the reason he'd called. He cut the call halfway through Art's refusal to accept that. Gibbs would have been proud.

He tossed the phone down on the bed and made his way into the bathroom and stripped. He turned on the shower and stepped in letting the hot water ease out all the kinks in his neck.

He had no qualms that he'd done the right thing -- for all parties.

Tony bundled his clothes up and shoved them in a bag with the rest of his laundry and locked the door on his way out.

He knocked on Andrea's door. She was wrapped in a sheet and looked sleepy and rumpled when she opened the door. Remnants of mascara gave her cute if ever-so-sluttish panda eyes.

"Hey." He gave her a high watt smile. He held up the bag in his hand. "I'm off to do some laundry. Need anything?"

"A new pair of legs, Mine are still a little shaky after last night." She pulled him close and gave him a kiss.

"I can't promise that but I can bring back croissants and strong coffee?"

"Mmmm….sounds good. Hurry back." She spun around giving him a good view of her ass.

He waved and turned. If he timed it right she'd be gone before he got back.

He hated goodbyes.

Never been very good at them.

* * *

The roses arrived mid-morning. The card just had two words written on it.

Thank you.

Abby gave them a big sniff. They smelt fresh and spicy.

She danced around the lab with them in her arms.

* * *

There was something therapeutic about the laundry, he found. He sat watching his clothes going around and around and around the dryer, letting his mind drift as he did so.

There had been only one other person there, a woman in her sixties with iron gray hair tied back in a bun who had insisted that he used her fabric softener because apparently that was the only way to get the static out of your clothes.

She had chatted about her grandchildren and parrots. He made noises in all the right places and as a parting shot she tried to fix him up with her neighbor's daughter who was apparently a 'peach'. He declined the offer gracefully, and she happily went on her way.

The dryer stopped thirty minutes later, and he folded his warm clothes into a neat pile. He checked his watch. He'd been stretching it out for three hours so far; add another half hour slow walk back.

He stopped off and bought the promised croissants just in case the Woodhams had got snarled up in traffic.

When he reached the motel he saw there was a new car parked outside, a sleek red Jaguar which looked out of place. He opened his door and put his bags down. He could hear voices murmuring through the wall. At least there was no shouting, the voices sounded calm and there had even been a few laughs. He sat on the bed and turned on the TV. He was halfway through an episode of Monk when there was a tap at the door.

Andrea pushed her way in. She stood by the window looking outside.

He stared at her back.

"Guess what? My parents turned up. Damndest thing, huh? I talk about missing them last night and than the next morning they turn up."

He stayed conspicuously silent. She obviously didn't believe in miracles or coincidences.

She turned around and walked towards him.

"I guess finding out unlisted numbers wouldn't be a hard push for a federal agent, huh?"

She smiled and wrapped her arms around him.

"They want me…I'm …I'm leaving with them."

"I figured."

"You okay with that?" She looked up at him.

"You need your parents Andrea. They obviously love you." He pulled her back tight and whispered into her hair. "Not like you're moving continents, Baltimore isn't that far."

"Thank you. You are an incredible man, Special Agent DiNozzo."

She released him.

"For the first time since it happened, I feel like I can breathe. I've been sober for a week. I feel good and I think that maybe things will be okay. I'll put my house up for sale and get a new place…fresh start right."

"As I said last night, you are stronger than you think you are. You can get through this. Just let your parents spoil you rotten and relax for a while."

"So I guess this is goodbye." She bit her lip.

"No, just a fresh start." He lifted her chin. "I think we both need to get our heads straight and maybe forget about certain aspects of living at The Shangri-La."

She nodded slowly.

"And who knows…given a little time…you'll call…" She said tentatively.

He nodded but he knew how things worked. After a few weeks it would be like they had never happened. Things moved on. People moved forward.

"Go on. Your mom and dad are waiting." He gave her a tap on the ass.

She leaned in for another tight squeeze and hurried out the door with her eyes glistening.

He watched as her father carried her suitcases to the car. Andrea and her mother were talking animatedly as they got in. Turning, he closed the door behind him. The TV was still on so he switched it off and opened a can of soda. He was mid-gulp when someone knocked at the door.

He expected Andrea but it was Art Woodhams who stood outside holding his hand out. Tony took it. As he shook, he felt something being pressed into his palm.

"I can't thank you enough for giving us our daughter back. I know you didn't do it for the money but I'm a man of my word."

Tony stared down at the folded check in his hands. He was still staring at the paper when the man turned and marched off towards his car. He watched the car turn around in a wide circle and drive off down the road.

He slapped the check down on the table and slumped down on the bed again.

So he was on his own again.

It was better that way.

Andrea needed the stability of her family. Relationships and him didn't work out anyway.

It was a shame, though. He'd liked her. It had been good to be with someone who could actually hold a conversation. He had to admit that it had been refreshing, but in the long run he knew it was for the best. Andrea needed someone who could commit, and as he'd just proved, that wasn't him. As soon as anyone got close, he freaked. It had always been the same. He was okay if it was a casual thing but anything more than that and he ran for the hills.

The longest relationship he'd ever had had been with Jeanne and he'd only lasted as long as it had because the whole situation had been fake and out of his control.

Great, now he was thinking of Jeanne.

He sighed.

He really needed a drink.

The nearly full bottle of Jack still sat on the side.

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

He sat up and grabbed the bottle and made for the bathroom. He poured the lot down the sink, his nostrils flaring at the smell. He stood with the empty bottle in his hand and cursed. Why had he just done that? He could have just had one drink.

Just the one.

Yeah, right.

With the walls closing in on him he picked up the check and his jacket and headed over to Una and the office.

Tony passed a man coming the other way. The guy stopped outside Sandy's room and knocked. Jesus, the guy was built like the hulk. Tony paused and looked back at him. The man mountain shot him a filthy look as Sandy opened the door.

Tony frowned and made for the stairs.

Una was reading a romance novel and eating Turkish delight. He smiled as she tried to brush the light dusting of confectioners sugar off her dress and her fingers. She looked so contented. If only everything in life was so simple.

He begged a stamp - and an envelope off her, which she quickly produced for him.

As he countersigned the back of the check and addressed the envelope to Sunshine house he listened to Una talk about how strange it was for Andrea's parents to show up like they had. He played dumb to her obvious digging and sealed the envelope.

Ten thousand would buy a lot of toys and stuff, he figured. He certainly didn't want or need it. Oh, he did like the ol' greenbacks but he'd always had his own dubious moral code when it came to money.

He put the envelope in the middle of Una's pile of outgoing mail. It occurred to him that he should have brought his laptop over so he could print off his letter of resignation. He'd do it tomorrow. Give the new day some sense of purpose. Not like he had Andrea around anymore to help fill the void.

Knowing that she wasn't going to get any gossip from him ,Una was itching to get back to her bodice ripper. He obviously wasn't going to find a distraction with his usually vocal landlady, not when Lord Farquar-Fortesque-Montegue was in the middle of taking the virtue of a meek and mild serving girl in the stable block -- if the cover of the book was anything to go by.

He walked back to his room with a heavy heart.

Maybe he'd call Abby. Talking to her might help ease the antsy, jittery feeling he could feel growing within.

He was tired, too damn tired. The human body wasn't made to survive on one hour's sleep a night. But he knew that if he tried to sleep now he'd only end up staring at the crack in the ceiling thinking about things he didn't want to be thinking about.

As he approached the stairs he could hear muffled cries coming out of Sandy's room. Somehow it seemed wrong to be paying for sex in the middle of a grey and dreary Monday afternoon, but to each their own.

As he came parallel with the room the hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. Shit, now he was closer he could hear that the panicked moans were not the fake cries of a hooker pretending to be having fun and his earlier unease he felt on first seeing the man returned.

Something crashed to the floor inside the room and he heard an angry growl instructing Sandy to 'shut the fuck up'.

Okay, that was it.

His hand automatically went to his gun…the gun he was not carrying, the gun that was still sat on his nightstand in his room. He swore under his breath.

As he kicked in the door he sincerely hoped that his instincts were correct and there wasn't just a kinky fully paid-up bondage-role-playing session going on.

Unless she was into hardcore auto-erotic asphyxiation his instincts were still good because the guy was in the middle of chocking the life out of Sandy and he could see she wasn't enjoying it if the scrabbling hands and legs, bright red face and bulging eyes were anything to go by.

He launched himself forward knocking the man over and away from the woman. She collapsed in a heap on to the floor gasping for air.

Tony got up and tensed, ready for a fight.

With a roar the hulk got up and charged. Tony found himself being slammed against the wall with full force. All the air was whooshed out of his lungs and he wheezed and gasped in shock.

Okay, not a good idea to take on a guy who looked like he'd eat 'The Rock' for breakfast. Tony knew he wasn't small by any means even though he'd lost a few pounds but the guy had a good four inches height on him and at least a hundred pounds. He found himself pinned and could do nothing about it.

Before he could do anything, The Hulk's two meaty hands made a beeline for his throat and he felt himself being lifted up the wall.

What the hell was the guy on? Was he the fucking Boston Strangler incarnate? Tony tried desperately to pry the hands away but they were like deadly twin vices and all he managed was to ineffectually paw as he felt his Adam's apple and windpipe getting crushed under the force.

He gasped as little white dots danced around his vision.

Shit, this was not the way he wanted to go.

Panic made him think fast.

He jerked backwards and with as much force as he could muster considering he was on the verge of passing out, he then threw his head forward.

The crash of skull against skull was deafening. The hulk dropped like a stone.

Tony stumbled away, sucking lungful after lungful of air into his body.

Fuck, that had hurt. He shook his head to try and clear the ringing in his ears.

Blood started to sheet down his face from a split in his forehead blinding him temporarily. He tried to stem the flow with a hand and swung around to just in time to see a dazed looking hulk lurching to his feet. Tony watched as he grabbed something off the table next to him.

"Oh, c'mon," he muttered to himself when he saw the lethal looking old-fashioned corkscrew gripped in the guy's right hand.

For a big guy he moved quickly. Tony tried to twist out of the way but his damn hip decided that it had had enough. His leg folded underneath him and he went down hard onto the table. He was pretty sure that this was not what Ducky had in mind for resting a fractured hip but he had bigger problems than fucking his pelvis again as the Hulk seemed intent on disemboweling him. The sharp steel ripped his shirt and continued its path downwards. The real pain only came when the twisted metal was pulled out. All clear brain function left the building as a white-hot pain seared through his gut.

Again and again the metal fell. He tried to roll away, tried to aim a few kicks at the guy's nuts but the pain and the fog in his brain made his reactions slow.

He struggled to get up. But he was pushed back down again. Pain exploded again, this time in his thigh and he looked down to see the corkscrew embedded deep into the muscle and tissue of his leg.

He gave a strangled yell as the guy quickly pulled the sharp impliment it out again, making ready to lunge at a different part of his body.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He was just contemplating on the idea of just playing dead when there was a loud crash and he found himself showered with splintered and broken wood and one unconscious psycho.

He looked up to see Sandy standing with what had once been a chair in her hands.

Tony gave a silent prayer and heaved the body off him. He sat up best he could.

"Call …the… police," he managed to ground out but Sandy just stood there staring at him with a look of horror on her face.

He looked down. There was blood on his stomach and his arm where the damn corkscrew had stabbed him but that was not what made him swear even though it hurt like a bitch.

The jagged wound high on his thigh was spurting a long stream of blood into the air with every beat of his heart.

Okay, that was not good. Popping the femoral artery was seriously up there on the scale of things you really did not want to happen.

He pressed down as hard as he could. The blood was slippery and he had trouble keeping his hands in place they were shaking so much.

"Police…and am…bulance…now," he ordered but his voice sounded odd to his ears, weak and pathetic.

The room started to spin and for the second time in just over a week he could feel everything start to slide slowly sideways as he made the up close and personal trip with the motel carpet.

Being screwed to death had always been high on his list of ways to die but this wasn't quite what he had in mind.

As he hit the floor he had one last thought.

Abby was going to kill him.

**TBC**

*evil laugh* Sorry, don't use me as a pinata as it's my Birthday tomorrow and I would like to live to see it. :)


	16. Chapter 16

Hello to all. Once again a huge thank-you for your continued enthusiasm. Special thanks to **Bambers Grey **for being a sweetheart and to **Sam'sgal** for being a voice of reason. Happy belated birthday to **Spanish Girl.** I tried to get this out on Saturday but I sadly failed! To **SilverNY57,** sneaked, snuck...snucked...hee. Yeah, on reflection I should have had Abby saying 'snuck'. Sounds very 'Abby'. What a fabulous word that is. Got to use it more often!:)

The gold star goes to **Pough** though. Love you honey! ;)

Now on to some unpleasantness...

A special message for **Carla **and **Tammy** who sadly post anonymously because they obviously don't want the people they flame to be able to respond.

**I so appreciate your tutorial on linguistics and the etymology of words. Yes, we've all been there, that precious moment when, for the first time in our young lives, that which a teacher or professor has said makes us aware of the complexities of this wonderful, diverse, organic language. Sharing newfound knowledge can be so exciting! I applaud your passion. Perhaps one day, when you've actually gone beyond the provincial borders of your state, your classroom, let alone country, you will realize the English language has many incarnations, idioms and colloquialisms. Dare I say, Amercans didn't create the language, but your professor probably told you that, too. If your inability to understand English beyond the Americanized version impedes your ability to enjoy my writing, do yourself a favor and find another story. Anyhow, until that time when you can accept that you do not hold the sceptre of Queen of the Language--and God willing, that time comes soon--your criticism remains what it is: nonconstructive, unappreciated, and bred of an airy word. That last bit, by the way, was written by another Brit, but since he wrote using British idioms, you probably wouldn't understand him either.**

**That said I direct you to my profile page. I've left your puerile comments up so far because they show you for the mean spirited nasty little trolls you are but you are not welcome and any further comments by either of you will be deleted without being read because quite frankly I've spent too much time on you already. **

**P.S Carla - You may want to see someone about your obvious fish obsession. I'm not sure it's entirely healthy!**

Sorry about that people. Now onto the story which I dedicate to all of you who just want to be entertained and are intellegent enough to forgive the odd mistake. You understand that I'm not Ernest Hemmingway! I am just a perky English woman trying to write in American English and am doing the best I can. ;)

* * *

_Chapter 16......_

Confusion fogged Tony's brain the instant he opened his eyes. He blinked up into the room and tried to work out where he was and why everything was feeling so faded and distant.

Blurred faces loomed into view above him.

He opened his mouth to ask what was going on but no sound came out, instead all he could manage was a strangled moan. Jesus, there was pain, lots of pain and he couldn't work out why. His gut was on fire and it felt like he had a heavy lead weight resting on his leg.

Reflexes kicked in and he tried to curl up into a tight ball.

"Hey, it's okay. Don't move," someone warned him.

He focused on the voice. Samuel? He looked down and saw that his neighbor had both hands clasped against his thigh.

The hands looked shiny and red.

His mind drifted as he pondered on why that would be.

Abby, he was going to ring Abby. Tony tried to get up but unseen hands were on his shoulders holding him down. Samuel cursed and pressed down harder against his leg.

He heard a strangled yelp and it took him a few seconds to realize that the primal sound had come from him.

He drummed against the floor with his boots to try and relieve the white-hot pain that exploded from the added pressure. He bit his lip and held his breath until the pain subsided to a more manageable level.

He lifted his head and saw his landlady was hugging Sandy tightly. Both were staring at him for some reason.

Over the sound of sirens outside Samuel was talking to him.

_"C'mon stay with us Tony…stay with us."_

Samuel kept repeating it over and over.

He narrowed his eyes.

Why?

Where was he going?

* * *

Abby narrowed her eyes and stared at the cell phone in her hand.

Five calls to Tony had gone answered.

She wanted to thank him for the gorgeous flowers.

Why wasn't he picking up?

Stupid voicemail.

She warned him what would happen if he ignored her again.

Her brain was working overtime as she paced around her lab thinking of rational reasons as to why he wouldn't be answering.

Maybe he was 'otherwise engaged' with Andrea.

She stopped and slumped down in her chair.

Okay, now her imagination was going into override especially since Tony had shared the more disturbing side of his relationship with her. Not that she'd ever thought Tony was a vanilla kind of guy but now she looked at him with a new respect --no respect was a wrong word--well, she realized that she wasn't the only wild card in the office.

Ohhh, maybe Tony couldn't answer because Andrea had him tied up and was torturing him in unspeakable ways, with flames and hot wax and knives a la Madonna and Willem Defoe.

Abby shook her head. Now she was channeling Tony and his movie references.

Unfortunately everything else centered on him being too drunk or zonked out of his skull to get to his cell and that was so not good. She could feel the panic start to build.

She picked up her Caff-Pow and shook the cup, ice rattled in the bottom.

Empty.

Oh this was sooo not good.

She threw the cup in the trash and stomped her way out of the room. She stabbed the up button on the wall several times just to get the point across that she was pissed… not that the elevator particularly cared one way or the other but she felt better for taking out her mood on something.

* * *

Gibbs was in the monthly team leader meeting.

As usual it was the biggest waste of time, middle management spouting buzzwords, issuing unreachable targets and adding to the already ridiculous mountain of paperwork. He watched the same agents trying to crawl up Leon Vance's ass each month. Their noses buried so far up his passage that they were developing gills.

He had to grip his coffee cup hard and repeat a silent calming mantra in his head in the effort not to just get up and walk out leaving them all to it.

Leon was in full flow. Apparently they all had to move with the times, leave old methods behind and realize that the future was in the technology they now had at their fingertips.

Gibbs made a half assed effort to cover an exclamation of 'bullshit' with a cough.

Vance glared at him.

Thankfully his cell started to ring before he could get into a pissing contest with the Director.

He grabbed his cell, raised and moved towards the door totally ignoring the mutters of disapproval around him. He shut the door behind him and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Gibbs" He didn't bother looking at the number, didn't care who was calling him he was just pleased that whoever it was had given him a perfect out.

_"Mister Gibbs…I hope I'm doing the right thing but…I …I really don't know if…Oh God…"_

He couldn't place the voice but whoever was out of breath and panicky.

"Who is this?" He tried to get her to focus.

_"I…we met when you came to my motel…"_ the woman stuttered.

"What's wrong?"

Gibbs gripped his phone tightly. His gut clenched, he didn't need to ask which motel as remembered the large woman with the bad hair.

He heard a sob the other end of the line.

_"Mister DiNozzo…Tony, he…he…there …was so much blood. They…they took him to hospital but…but…they don't know…if he'll…oh God…"_

He started to run towards the bullpen. He knocked into someone and sent a pile of paper into the air but he didn't stop.

"What happened?"

_"I…I don't know…I …he just…I've never seen so much blood….I think I need to call someone…a carpet cleaner…"_

The woman on the other end of the phone was clearly crumbling. He could barely understand what she was saying as shock was taking over and she began to ramble.

_"Mister Gibbs …I've got to go…I saw your number and …thought you could…could… tell Abigail. She was so nice to us all."_

"Which hospital"

He tried to keep his voice even but he knew he was all but yelling at her before she hung up.

"Which damn hospital did they take him?" He yelled again as he approached his desk. He managed to get through to her and she stuttered the name before the line went dead.

McGee and Ziva both got to their feet.

He flipped his phone shut.

Gibbs took several deep breaths.

What the hell had DiNozzo done?

"Boss?" McGee's voice broke through his thoughts.

He looked up but couldn't formulate any words. He needed to get to Leesburg.

"Boss?" McGee repeated again.

Abby had appeared from the direction of the elevator and had obviously picked up the fact that something was wrong because her eyes grew big and she wrapped her arms around her torso. The last time he'd seen that look on their faces was the night he'd retired and it hit him that he couldn't keep this from them. They'd never forgive him.

"Tony's been taken to hospital. We need to get there fast."

They all just stared at him as if they expected him to make it right. That was what he needed to get his head back on straight.

He grabbed the keys off his desk.

"C'mon if you're coming….now!"

* * *

The next time Tony came too he could hear the high wail of a siren.

The sound pounded into his brain and he tried to tell whoever was leaning over him that it was giving him a hell of a headache but he couldn't open his mouth or move.

He was lying flat on his back but he could feel the nauseating sway of a vehicle underneath him as it sped along.

Had he fallen asleep in the back of the car?

Was Gibbs driving?

He drifted off to a place where dreams crashed hard with reality.

He was at a crime scene with Ducky telling him about adipose tissue.

Ducky morphed into Ziva, then McGee.

Everything spun and changed at an alarming rate.

His mother was tucking him into bed.

The time he'd got stuck up a tree and was rescued by the gardener.

His father yelling at him for failing Math.

He tried to make sense of the confusion.

The last time he'd felt this disjointed had been at college when a particularly lethal joint had had him hallucinating and feeling paranoid in equal measure. He remembered thinking he could fly and tried to test out that theory by climbing out onto the roof. He could still hear his frat brothers panicked shouts as they fought to restrain him.

He swore off drugs the next day but the same sense of otherworldliness seemed to cloak him now.

And he was so cold. Why wasn't the heater on?

Through the blur of his lashes he could see that someone was holding a bag of something clear over their head and was squeezing it hard.

There was a rattling noise near to him. Whatever he was lying on had started to vibrate… maybe the road was uneven.

Tony watched as the man cursed and quickly attached another bag to the line and started to squeeze hard again.

The rattling was becoming louder and louder.

He shut his eyes and tried to block out the sounds.

The wailing of the sirens.

The steady beeping next to him that was becoming more incessant and hurried.

The ragged breathing he could hear every time he inhaled and exhaled.

The clanking of metal against metal.

Everything was creating a cacophony of sound that made him want to shout in sheer frustration.

He felt his eyelids being pulled up and a piercing light added to the migraine he had brewing.

The rattling increased and in a blinding flash of insight he suddenly realized what was causing the irritating vibrations around him.

How he'd missed the fact that his body was trembling with a force that it was making his teeth ache.

He couldn't control it.

His whole body was shaking with such violence it actually scared him.

"We're losing him." A voice he didn't recognize shouted. "He's bleeding out quicker than I can replace…."

* * *

Gibbs figured that he'd give them five more minutes before he'd start shouting.

He was trying really hard to be calm but his patience was fast running out. He looked towards the doors again hoping to see Ducky. If anyone could get some information out of the harassed staff it would be Duck. He checked his watch once more. What the hell was keeping him? He'd only been ten minutes behind.

It had taken they way too long to get to the hospital. The fates had been against them. The traffic had been slow and they'd hit a snarl up thirty miles out due to a truck shedding its load.

The whole journey had lacked any conversation after he'd snapped and bellowed that he didn't know what the hell had happened, that they knew as much as he did. From then on everyone had been lost in their own thoughts with only Abby's quiet sobs punctuating the stony silence.

He couldn't stop thinking about the gun and he knew that the same thing was going through Abby's head.

He was taken back thirty years to a raw new recruit who couldn't take the bombardment of rules and discipline the marine core provided. He'd taken a gun and placed it against his temple. Sadly, after half a bottle of whisky to give him courage his arm had slipped and instead of ending his life all he'd managed was to blow a chunk of his skull off.

The recruit had spent the rest of his life a virtual vegetable, couldn't talk, could barely walk, an empty shell, a wasted life. For many years he'd served as a valuable cautionary tale to anyone who was thinking of doing the same. He'd become a poster boy for doing the job right.

He was praying to God that Tony hadn't done the same thing. He'd seen first hand how shaky Tony had been when drunk and if he'd tried to fire his weapon…then it didn't bare thinking about. He knew enough about statistics, knew that a high percentage of people who'd tried to off themselves went on to try it again.

Gibbs fought the urge to punch the vending machine he was stood next to.

He had a rule about jumping to conclusions but it was hard not too when a hysterical woman called to say your friend had bled out all over her carpet. What else could he think? That level of injury clearly wasn't down to a shaving cut.

It didn't help when you knew what a fucked up mental state the person was in last time you'd seen them. He should never have left him there.

He looked over at his team. Ziva sat stiff in her chair, her back straight with her hands folded on her lap. She was staring at the wall opposite like she was trying to bore a hole in the plaster. Abby was almost curled up in McGee's lap. He was stroking her hair and whispering in her ear as she shredded a tissue.

A doctor walked towards him, he followed him with his eyes but the guy walked straight past.

Two minutes and he'd start yelling.

* * *

Tim was so sweet. He was doing his best to comfort her but she didn't deserve it.

She would have sworn on a stack of bibles that Tony had been telling the truth when he said he wasn't suicidal. She knew DiNozzo's tell and she definitely hadn't seen it when he'd talked about the night he'd taken the tablets. She believed him and even when she'd made him actually swear on her life he still maintained that it hadn't been intentional.

Tony wouldn't lie to her, he never lied to her.

That's why she given him his gun back.

She trusted him.

Maybe she didn't know him as well as she though she did.

They'd all hate her once they found out this was her fault.

* * *

Okay, he'd had enough. How long did it take to find someone who could tell him what was going on?

He left the waiting area and headed for the front desk. He stood drumming his fingers as the receptionist talked on the phone. She held up her hand to dismiss him and continued on with her conversation. Anger flooded his body he was just about to let rip when someone appeared beside him wearing scrubs.

"Are you here for Mr. DiNozzo?"

Finally!

"It's Special Agent DiNozzo, he's a federal agent."

He wasn't sure why he had to make that distinction but he felt he needed too.

"Sorry, I wasn't aware he was an agent. Shall we?" The surgeon moved them towards a quieter part of the room. That didn't bode well in Gibbs' eyes. He was aware the rest of the team was watching intently from where they sat but none were making a move over towards where they stood. He was glad of that. If there was bad news he wanted to be the one to give it out and they obviously thought the same.

"How is he?" One hand was in his pocket clenched tightly.

Please don't let the next words out of the guy's mouth be 'I'm sorry....'

"He's just come out of surgery,"

Gibb's uncurled his hand.

Thank God, one hurdle over.

"He's doing well all things considered. Blood loss was a major issue. We had to stabilize him before we could operate… I'm not going to lie. It was touch and go for a while."

The surgeon paused before he continued.

"He had a nasty tear in his liver which we managed to repair without too much trouble. His pancreas was punctured but that should heal nicely by itself. He also had some damage to the abdominal wall, which we also repaired. Our main concern was the injury he sustained to his femoral artery, it can be problematical to deal with but again the procedure to repair it went well. He should recover without any long term health issues if he rests up and follows doctors orders."

The surgeon smiled obviously pleased that he could deliver good news but all Gibbs could do was frown.

What the hell?

Okay, he was officially confused. Hours spent thinking Tony had tried to off himself again but suddenly he was faced with …well, he didn't know what 'this' was.

"I know it doesn't sound like it but it really is good news Mr…?"

The surgeon seemed perplexed at his silence.

"It's Special Agent Gibbs and can you tell me what the hell happened to my agent?"

"Oh…Oh I see, you weren't aware of what type of injury we were dealing with." The surgeon stuttered. "I'm not aware of all the facts myself, the police have the full picture obviously, in fact they have already been in to try and speak to him but we sent them away until the morning."

"What happened?" He repeated a little too sharply but he didn't give a shit about anything else right now except finding out why Tony had just had major surgery on numerous injuries.

"Apparently he went to the aid of a woman who was being attacked and was unfortunately stabbed with a corkscrew of all things, that complicated things a little due to the twisted nature of the item. Rather lethal really, very sharp. Anyway, we'll keep him in the critical care unit overnight to monitor for any post op bleeds. That's standard practice after a surgery like Agent DiNozzo's but I don't foresee any problems. Once he leaves the recovery room you should be able to visit him. Someone will take you to up when they have him settled."

The surgeon patted his arms. Gibbs should have thanked him but he just watched him walk away down the corridor.

All the tension he'd been holding in his body seemed to dissipate at once. He turned and lent his forehead up against the wall to try and regain his equilibrium.

"Oh dear Lord…Jethro...is he…is he…" Ducky appeared next to him, his voice hitched as he spoke.

Gibbs turned and saw that the team had followed Duck over. They were all staring at him. Abby's tears had started to flow again; her bottom lip trembled as she clung to Ziva's arm.

"Gibbs?" Her voice barely registered above a whisper. "Please tell us he's not dead?"

He puffed out a breath. Now he had regained a sense of perspective blessed relief washed over him at the absurdity of it all.

He pulled Abby towards him and hugged her to his side.

"The damn bonehead got stabbed with a fucking corkscrew saving a woman from an assault…."

"What?" Abby gasped. "You mean he didn't…"

"Nope." The corner of Gibbs mouth quirked in a half smile. He never thought he'd ever be happy to see DiNozzo get stabbed but considering the alternatives. "He's going to be okay Abs."

"Tell me what the doctor said." Ducky asked.

"C'mon, lets grab a coffee and I'll fill you all in."

Gibbs made a decision as they made their way down to the cafeteria.

Whether he liked it or not DiNozzo was coming back to DC even he had to drag him back kicking and screaming.

He wanted him where he could keep an eye on him.

**TBC**


	17. Chapter 17

_Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and a fun filled New Year! _

_**Beta:** The fantastic _**_Tiffany331._**_ Thank you sweetheart. I am forever in your debt! _

_Thanks for all the reviews and PM's. And also for the words of support. *hugs you all*_

**_The Drinking Game_**_ thanks for the kind words and in answer to your very valid point - Yes, yes I do do that. *hangs head in shame* It's a grubby habit I can't seem to break. My English teacher many, many years ago said that it was part of my unique writing style...I chose to take it as a compliment! I'm not sure I deserve the whipped cream and the maraschino cherry now though as it's taken me so long to update but maybe I can just dip my finger into the cream?? ;)_

_*big snogs to all*_

* * *

Ziva watched Tony as he slept.

Far too many tubes snaked their way from the bed to IV stands and various ominous looking machines for her liking. One tube in particular would no doubt cause Tony much consternation when he fully regained all his faculties. She winced and looked up from the floor and away from the liquid filled bag. It seemed enough of an invasion of privacy seeing Tony so vulnerable and exposed without looking at his bodily fluids.

What bothered her more than tubes and the swathes of gauze that covered Tony's torso like a patchwork quilt was the fact that he was so still and quiet.

He was never still; he was a ball of frenetic energy, always mobile, always talking. He paced, he grinned, he used his whole body to get a point across, his brain always processing ridiculous thoughts at a thousand miles an hour.

He was always so, so…Tony.

She moved her chair forward and studied her partner. He looked so very different than the last time she'd seen him.

His hair was longer than normal and was sticking up all over his head and he had dark stubble peppering his chin and neck. Someone had also shaved his chest so that ridiculous patches of hair tufted against the recently smooth.

Why did they not shave it all off?

Okay, she understood that they had been trying to save his life, not giving him a makeover, but seeing him like that just added to the overall pathetic look that was not Tony.

She would bring a razor and some shaving foam in for him so that when he was free from all the equipment he would be able to shave his chest. He would be able to get away with that look, although personally she liked men who were a little on the hairy side. She'd read somewhere that it was a sign of a good level of testosterone and that was never a bad thing. Tony would not like looking like a moth-eaten teddy bear especially with all the pretty nurses around.

She studied his body.

There was a livid purple band around his throat. Someone had tried to strangle Tony and by the look of it had almost succeeded. She tentatively ran her fingertips across the mark and down his chest. He was thinner than she remembered and he had definitely lost muscle mass; he had clearly not been eating properly. It looked like he had not been taking care of himself at all.

She gently traced the other bruises that covered his skin. Some were new and fresh but most were older. Varying shades of yellows and greens merged into the black. Some were fist shaped, but small. Not a man, she noted. The hands were very different in size from the ones that had clamped around his neck.

There were also perfect imprints of fingertips as if someone had gripped his biceps tightly, but what made her frown were the marks on his shoulders and neck. She ran a finger over the faint arcs she saw. The skin hadn't been broken but the blood vessels under the skin had been damaged leaving pinpricks of ruby against the pale of his flesh.

She knew a bite mark when she saw it, and this hadn't been a playful game. It would have hurt. Whoever had sunk their teeth into him had clearly meant it to mark him and added to all the other bruises, she found herself intrigued by what it all meant.

She pulled back her hand as if burnt when he stirred.

"Tony?"

He groaned and his eyelids flickered.

One of his hands moved towards his stomach and before she could stop him he laid it down heavily on one of the gauze pads. He jerked upwards and gasped, his eyes flying open in shock, wildly scanning the room. Although his eyes were open, she didn't think he was actually registering anything around him. He certainly wasn't aware of her.

He suddenly slumped back down, his green eyes bloodshot and unfocused, panting hard as he stared at the ceiling. The heart monitor started to speed up, the steady beep increasing slightly as he gripped the blanket.

"Are you in pain?"

She cursed at the stupid question. Of course he was in pain. He had been stabbed several times and added to that he had just managed to prod himself in the site of a recent surgery.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

She picked up the morphine pump from where it sat on the blanket and pressed the button.

She watched him slowly relax again as the drug quickly flooded through his system and he drifted back off to sleep.

She settled back down in her chair. She had another twenty minutes until her time was up.

* * *

Tim moved restlessly around the room. He studied each machine and wire over and over, anything to distract him from the man in the bed.

One glance had been enough. It looked like Tony had gone head to head with a combine harvester and lost.

He sat by the bed and fidgeted.

He could hear Tony's voice in his head telling him to 'chill-ax,' but he couldn't.

He got up and headed for the door even though he'd been in the room less than ten minutes. He ignored the look of disapproval Abby gave him as he passed her in the corridor outside.

It was stupid, but he just didn't know how to handle a silent, immobile Tony.

It just wasn't natural.

* * *

Abby tried to hug Tony as carefully as she could without dislodging anything or hurting him further. She ended up just resting her cheek against his and squeezing his arms gently.

She had an hour before Ducky took her place. That wasn't long enough. She'd tried to argue that she would take Tim's unused time but Gibbs had been firm. If they wanted to stay the night then they each took it in turns.

Stupid 'one visitor at a time' rule in the critical care unit. No matter how hard she sulked and stomped the staff wouldn't budge.

Abby jumped when she heard someone enter the room and moved guiltily away from the bed. She watched as a young blond nurse checked all of Tony's lines before injecting something into the cannula on the back of his hand.

Abby wrinkled her nose as the nurse proceeded to take Tony's temperature with one of the bleeping ear thingies that she hated. There was something nasty about the hygienic plastic thermometer covers that just irritated the ear canal; they were like tiny wrinkled condoms and if Tony had been awake she knew he would have shoved his finger in his ear and wiggled it around to remove the weird sensation. She smiled to herself as she imagined the performance he'd go through.

The nurse's voice startled her out of her thoughts.

"He's doing well. His temperature is slightly down and his blood pressure is holding which is good. He must be a nice man to have so many friends wanting to visit him even though he's sleeping."

The nurse smiled warmly and Abby decided that she liked her.

"He is. He's the absolute best. He's like Superman and James Bond rolled into one… not that I'm saying Tony wears tights or anything, not that that wouldn't be a sight to see, but he does sometimes wear a tux like James Bond so he's probably more like an MI5 agent than an alien. He actually saved my life once. I mean really honest to goodness 'saved my life' and not just 'brought me a can of soda when I was really thirsty' saved my life…'

The nurse grinned and Abby realized that she was rambling, but she continued anyway because she was on a roll.

"A mad terrorist was shooting at me …don't ask… long story… but before I even realized what was happening Tony threw himself in front of me and the next thing I knew I was under a table with him hugging me. He's a good hugger!"

"So, he's not only a nice guy but a brave one too…Not many of those around."

"Oh, he's brave … he's only here because he got stabbed saving another woman from a maniac. A totally bitchy woman who treated him like dirt but he's like that…he just does, doesn't think about how it's going to end for him."

Abby thought about what she said. Hmmm, that was so true. She'd have to have a talk with him about that. Abby watched the nurse appraise Tony again.

"Are you two…?" She asked, her meaning clear.

"Noooo, no." Abby shook her head. "We're just friends. We work together."

The nurse seemed to absorb that piece of information and then happily went off on her rounds. Maybe Abby could steer Tony in the right direction and away from Andrea. Not that she didn't like the woman; she certainly felt sorry for her, but there was something hinky in wanting to beat up your bedfellow, especially when said person was Tony.

"See that Tony, she was totally checking you out! Even when you are unconscious and not looking your best you still get the ladies!" Abby grinned.

Okay, Tony was out of it, but maybe he could still hear her. She curled up in the chair and talked.

"So, Sister Rosita sends her love. So does Sister Mary, Sister Agnes, Sister Faustina, oh and Sister Hilda is baking you a chocolate cake…."

* * *

It was late by the time Gibbs got to the motel, but several lights were still on. He parked and headed towards Tony's room.

He'd made a pit stop to speak to the local LEO's to find out what had happened straight from the horse's mouth. After reading the police reports and speaking to the officers who'd worked the scene, he was satisfied that he now had all the facts. It was just like DiNozzo to go barreling in without thinking. One look at the perp's mug shot was enough to see that Tony had been out of his mind to take him on without a weapon, especially since the tox screening had come back saying that the bastard had been high on PCP and crack at the time. But then again, Tony never did balk when it came to a challenge even if it meant he'd get beaten to a pulp.

NCIS could have taken the case over, as an assault on a federal agent gave them jurisdiction, but the bastard who attacked DiNozzo was already on a parole violation. He'd be heading straight back inside to wait out the new charges against him and they'd be heavy, he'd make damn sure of that.

He would have loved to pay a little visit to the guy whilst he was there. The cops would have looked the other way, law enforcement was just one big family when one of their own got hurt, it didn't matter what branch you were in. But the problem with that was the fact that cons were so clued up now and he didn't need Vance crawling up his ass over allegations of an assault.

It took all of ten seconds to pick the lock on Tony's room. He flicked the lights on and made for the closet. He found a gym bag and started to pack Tony's clothes, folding them neatly as he as he went. When he was done there, he then headed for the bathroom.

There was an empty bottle of whisky sitting on the toilet cistern. He picked it up and frowned. His investigative side kicked as he tried to work out why it would be there. The head wasn't exactly the most salubrious place to indulge in a drink no matter how fucked up you were, especially when the room was as dank as this one was. Gibbs bent his head towards the sink. He couldn't help but smile when his nose caught the strong smell of alcohol, a lot of alcohol at that. The drain had probably danced a jig at the impromptu sanitization.

If DiNozzo was pouring good liquor down the sink, then that could only be a good thing. Certainly a step in the right direction.

Dropping the bottle into the small trashcan at his feet, he moved onto stuffing the bag with Tony's personal items. He was just in the process of clearing the shower when he heard someone open the door. His hand automatically moved towards his gun as he opened the bathroom door to see who had entered.

The motel owner was hiding behind the black guy he'd met on his last visit and they were both looking nervous. He removed his hand and dumped the bag down on the bed.

"Relax, I'm Tony's boss. Just packing up his things."

The woman peered at him through squinted eyes.

"Oh… it's Mr. Gibson…"

"It's Special Agent Gibbs, Ma'am, and thank you for your call."

"Why are you packing up Tony's stuff?" The guy frowned as he asked the question. Considering he was clearing the room, it would be a natural progression to think that DiNozzo hadn't made it.

"Tony's okay. He got through surgery a few hours ago. I think we have you to thank that he made it that far?"

The guy nodded. According to the police report, he was the only resident who'd had the foresight to clamp his hands over Tony's artery. Without him, DiNozzo would have probably bled out before the EMT's arrived.

"Just happened to be in the right place at the right time." He held his hand out and Gibbs shook it firmly. "I think Tony is the only damn cop I've ever liked. It's Samuel by the way."

"And I'm Una, Mr. Gibbs." She gushed, obviously wanting to inject herself back into the proceedings. "We tried to ring the hospital but they wouldn't tell us anything."

Gibbs mouth quirked. He realized that the whole official title thing was lost on the woman.

"You have my card; feel free to call me if you want any updates. And please send me the bill for cleaning the carpets and any other damage."

She blushed.

"I'm sorry about that. I was a little overwrought when I called you. Seeing Tony like that, the police and ambulance, it was all a bit too much. I'm sure the insurance will pay for any cleaning costs."

"Bill me." He said firmly, not giving in.

"So, I take it Tony's moving out." Samuel stated nodding towards the bag.

"Yup. Again, bill me for any outstanding rent."

Una bobbed her head up and down, her curls not moving one inch they were so thickly lacquered.

Gibbs picked up Tony's gun from the nightstand and ejected the magazine before placing both in the gym bag. Then he tossed the badge in after it and zipped up the bag. With the laptop under his arm he did one more sweep of the room to see if he'd forgotten anything.

They followed him down to his car like two terriers guarding Tony's possessions. He slung Tony's stuff on the back seat.

His hand was on the driver's door when he turned.

"Can I see where it happened?"

He didn't know where that had come from, but while he was there he might as well get the full picture.

"The police have taped it off." Una looked worried. "They said not to go in there until they gave the go-ahead."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Trust me... I think I know how to move around a crime scene and not disturb anything."

Una blushed and Samuel gave a snorted laugh.

"Of course…" She still looked uncomfortable and he realized that the main problem was most likely she didn't want to have to go near the room.

"I'll show him." Samuel patted the woman on the arm. "Una, why don't you go to bed? It's late."

She looked uncertain, but then nodded and said her goodnights before heading off towards her quarters.

Gibbs followed Samuel up the stairs. They stopped several doors down from DiNozzo's room. He got his lock picks out and set about opening the door.

"Sure could have used those in my youth." Samuel grinned broadly.

Gibbs turned his head and laughed.

"Thought you used to hold up convenience stores?" Abby had been very vocal about the residents of the motel after her stay, so he also knew that Tony had liked and trusted the guy. And seeing as Samuel had twice gone to DiNozzo's rescue, well, that was good enough for him too.

"Yup, that's what I kept getting arrested for…. let's just say I was obviously better at house breaking than I was at robbery." Samuel ruefully chewed his lip.

Gibbs snorted.

"Wasted too many years on the junk but I'm clean now, have been for fifteen years, and I can hold my hand up and say that I never hurt anyone. Least my conscience is clean on that front."

Gibbs didn't say anything. Who was he to judge?

The lock clicked and he pushed open the door. He ducked under the crime tape and switched on the light.

Jesus.

He swallowed hard. The sight in front of him wasn't exactly new, but he found it hard to distance himself knowing that DiNozzo had been at the center of it.

The room resembled a fucking abattoir.

Next to a broken table, a pool of oxidized blood had soaked into the cheap and lurid carpet. The red-brown stain was thick and dark and worryingly large, but what made him feel physically sick were the lines of arterial blood that had sprayed high up on the wall like a macabre Jackson Pollock painting. It was no wonder that Tony had barely made it to the hospital alive. Seeing it in front of him brought home just how lucky Tony had been to get out of this one alive.

He'd seen enough. He ducked back under the tape and shut the door behind himself. Selecting another pick out of the slim leather case in his hand, he locked the door again.

He shook Samuel's hand again and then got back on the road. He still had lots to do before morning.

He called Ducky to get an update and listened to what seemed like ten minutes of inconsequential jargon before the medic finally said that DiNozzo was still pretty much out of it and his condition was holding.

The drive back to Washington was uneventful, and he pulled up outside Tony's apartment in the early hours of the morning.

Again he put his lock picks to good use and set about unpacking Tony's belongings. He couldn't help but smile at all the fancy products he saw in the bathroom as he was replacing the bottles of shampoo. He was strictly a bar of soap and a multipurpose shower gel kind of guy, but DiNozzo obviously didn't follow that simple ethos. Gibbs held up a little blue pot and squinted at the label. Damn, what the hell was hard wax anyway? Sounded like some kind of kinky sex aid to him. He shook his head and replaced the product back down on the shelf.

He made his way into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Just as he suspected there were several life forms trying to evolve in there. He rooted around until he found a black trash sack and started to clear out everything that was past its use-by date. There was pizza that resembled plastic it was so hard, a block of Parmesan cheese that was trying it's best to become Stilton, and he didn't want to know what was going on inside the box of ancient eggs.

That done, he moved onto cleaning. He knew that when you stopped caring about yourself what did a layer of grime and dust over everything matter, and by the looks of the apartment Tony had let his cleaner go many, many months ago. The place looked neglected and at odds with how it had been for years ever since Tony had realized that he was a little too old to be living like he was still in a frat house.

He found a cupboard filled with several different types of polish, floor cleaners and bleach, buckets and dusters; supplies obviously bought by someone who knew what they were doing.

Gibbs wasn't too proud to roll up his sleeves and get dirty. He filled a bucket with hot soapy water and set to it. The first thing he did was open all the windows wide, letting out the stale, fetid air that had built up over the months. It took him several hours of scrubbing and sluicing down to get the place looking how it should. The bathroom was sanitary again and bed had been made up with clean sheets tucked in so tightly you could bounce a quarter off the surface.

He checked his watch.

0730.

He called McGee to check in, wanting a brief synopsis of DiNozzo's health and knowing that Duck would be incapable of providing that.

"Sitrep McGee."

"Um...his doctor has just told us that they want to keep him in the critical care unit for the time being Boss." McGee sounded nervous.

Gibbs started to pace. He'd been told that Tony would only have to stay in the CCU overnight.

"Why?" His voice took on the cold steel quality it always did when he was stressed.

His heart started to pound and he prepared himself to make the hurried drive back to the hospital. He could hear Abby and Ducky in the background asking who was on the line. The voices grew muffled and he pictured McGee palming the cell as he talked to them.

"McGee!" He yelled.

"McGee!" He bellowed the name at the top of his voice the second time to try and get him back on the line. Someone banged on the other side of the wall in the apartment next door.

"Good grief …you almost deafened me Jethro. May I suggest that you calm down before you suffer an aneurysm?" Ducky's voice was sanguine. "I can assure you that Anthony is still very much holding his own. His temperature is starting to climb again and that, coupled with the fact that his blood pressure has dropped, is a cause for some concern. But keeping him in the unit is just a precaution Jethro…nothing to get unduly worried about at this stage."

"A precaution against what Duck?"

"Well, the dip in his blood pressure could be an indication of internal bleeding."

"What would that mean?" His pacing increased.

"More surgery. They would have to open him up again to identify and close the bleed, but really Jethro, at this stage please try not to panic. They'll monitor him closely and whilst his blood pressure is a concern it's also still at an acceptable level right now. If it keeps falling then we need to seriously worry, but right now the doctors are just being overcautious."

"Make sure someone calls me the minute anything changes." He said gruffly.

"If the situation accelerates then I promise you'll be the first to know."

He knew that Ducky wouldn't lie to him and if he said that he shouldn't be panicking then he wouldn't, but he still didn't like what he'd heard. Dammit, why was nothing simple with DiNozzo?

Abby insisted on speaking to him. Apparently Tony had woken up several times throughout the night but hadn't been particularly lucid. He'd babbled about vampires, canopy beds and mint juleps. She was clearly upset, but positive that Tony was going to be okay because she had set him up on a hot date with one of the nurses. Her reasoning was that if Andrea couldn't be assed to care enough about Tony to visit, then she could fix him up with a date.

Gibbs had pondered on the absence of the woman from the motel too. She hadn't been around when he'd packed up Tony's things, and he was surprised that she hadn't appeared at the hospital considering she'd apparently been glued to Tony's side throughout Abby's visit and had hovered on the sidelined throughout his. He didn't dwell too long on it though. Relationships were complicated at the best of times without adding into it the DiNozzo factor.

He found himself smiling by the time he ended the call. Abby's bizarre reasoning that the lure of a potential date was all that was needed for Tony to pull through partially broke through the anxiety he was feeling. And if the nurse was the leggy blond with the pert breasts who had been doing Tony's obs throughout the night, then it probably would be enough of an incentive, knowing DiNozzo.

With one last look around the apartment, he shut the windows and locked the door behind himself.

He stopped off at his favorite coffee shop and growled as he took a large gulp of the scalding liquid. It had been way too long since his last fix. So long that he'd gotten two large cups to make up for the fact he needed to top up his caffeine levels if he wanted to function for the rest of the day.

At the navy yard he saw that Vance's car was in its parking bay. He swung a left and parked his car where he always did. He took another long swallow of his coffee before shoving the file from the passenger seat under his arm and heading in.

He deposited one cup on his desk as he passed then headed up to the director's office.

He nodded to Cynthia as he passed.

"He in there?"

"Yes … he's not in the best of moods and why do I get the impression that it's not going to be improving any after he sees you, Special Agent Gibbs?" She replied to his back.

"I just have a natural gift to piss people off, Cynthia."

He turned and raised his eyebrow as he opened the door.

Vance looked up from his desk as he entered.

"Leon." Gibbs said by way of greeting.

"Jethro…I see you have deemed to grace us with your presence today."

The Director had a sour expression on his face. He was obviously still pissed that Gibbs had left the team meeting early the previous day and had disappeared.

"I see that the rest of your team has yet to show up."

Vance nodded to the monitor on the wall that showed the Major Case Response Team's section of the bullpen looking very empty, apart from a cup of coffee sitting on one desk. Gibbs thought that he really should have brought it with him now. One was clearly not enough.

"I seem to be missing a forensics specialist and autopsy is also one down."

Gibbs sighed.

"They're all at the hospital. DiNozzo has been in the critical care unit since yesterday afternoon. We almost lost him Leon, still touch and go now."

"What happened?" Vance sat back and did actually look concerned. That earned him a few points in Gibbs' eyes.

He threw down the file onto Vance's desk.

"There's the police report."

Vance reached out and pulled the file towards him and opened it. He started to read the file.

Gibbs took the opportunity to sit down. He was beyond tired, not that he'd admit the fact to anyone.

"What was he doing in a flophouse in Leesburg?" Vance eventually asked, after flipping through the crime scene photos. "I thought he was staying with friends in the mountains?"

Gibbs detected that Vance had picked up on the fact that there was more to this than met the eye, but he was ready for that.

"Hell, I don't know Leon. He's on sick leave, not under house arrest. All I know is that he's a damn fine federal agent who once again put his life on the line to prevent a murder, and due to his actions a violent parole violator is back behind bars where he belongs. In my book, he should be getting a commendation, not being questioned on his choice of accommodation."

Vance pursed his lips and unwrapped a toothpick. Gibbs was aware he was being studied.

"There is no denying that DiNozzo's actions are to be applauded, but one thing concerns me Jethro."

The toothpick went into the corner of his mouth and he thoughtfully chewed it before he spoke again.

"Agent DiNozzo seems to be continually 'putting his life on the line,' as you put it. Case in point, right now he's off on extended medical leave after getting hit by a car. Running in front of a speeding vehicle seems to be just one in a long line of what could be called careless accidents. But we both know that Special Agent DiNozzo isn't some nervous probationary who screws the pooch because he's inexperienced; he's a competent agent with many years behind him. So I'm left wondering why his work-related injury file is about five inches thicker than any other active agent."

Gibbs held his gaze and took a swig of his coffee.

"Where are you going with this Leon? I'm not sure of what you're getting at. Is the agency's insurance carrier getting antsy over DiNozzo's medical bills, because I'm pretty sure they are still clearing a vast profit with what we all pay in premiums each month. Or is it the fact that over the years he's had more sick leave than average, because again I don't see the problem. He got those injuries by saving civilians and more than once, members of his own team. We're not talking about a glass-back employee here. DiNozzo's not work-shy, no matter how much it appears to the contrary Leon."

The toothpick moved up and down. Vance removed it and tapped it against his lip before returning it to his mouth. He chewed it thoughtfully for a few seconds before he removed it again.

"You know very well what I'm concerned about, Jethro. It seems to me that he doesn't have any regard for his own safety. Is that just because he's totally intrepid or is there something more sinister going on here that I need to know about? "

Vance looked like a shark circling a kill and Gibbs tried to act nonchalant even though the warning bells were ringing.

"I want DiNozzo to pass a comprehensive psych evaluation before he returns to work."

Shit.

Gibbs sunk the last of his coffee.

He was aware that Tony used a technique of outrageous flirting to distract the agency psychiatrist each year - he himself just used the method of good old fashioned bad temper - but if he did manage to persuade DiNozzo not to hand in his notice it was highly doubtful the agency doc would clear him on an eval right now even if he used every ounce of his charm.

The psychiatrist let a field agent have a modicum of eccentricity, though, because she was aware that you had to have a certain amount of crazy to be able to go out day after day and get shot at. But to gain a pass with the black dogs he had snapping at his heels, Gibbs figured that charm alone would not do it. DiNozzo would have to bend her into the shape of a pretzel and give her several multiple orgasms for her to fudge his evaluation.

Vance seemed to read his mind and gave a sly grin.

"I'll be bringing in someone else to do the evaluation. Dr. Stenhouse is highly respected in his field, and as a man not likely to be swayed by DiNozzo's good looks as our own in-house psychiatrist is."

Gibbs got up, crushed his cup and threw it in the trashcan.

"Not a problem Leon. He'll pass it like he always does. I have every faith in my agent even if you don't."

He didn't give the Director a chance to respond, and all but slammed the door on his way out.

He let out a puff of air as he walked by Cynthia. She winced as he passed.

"That bad huh?" She asked.

He glared at her and stalked away.

Bad didn't cover it.

* * *

"The whisky was lit by myself, a very good single malt from Skye if I do recall. Anyway, a fine chap called Tristan and myself had to carry the heavy silver platter, complete with haggis, tatties and neps, down the full length of the darkened hall. The flames were absolutely magnificent and they cast an eerie glow over everyone's faces, but as we approached the top table the haggis exploded, sending hot oatmeal, pigs lung and sheep heart flying over the university's dean. Complete chaos …"

Ducky chuckled to himself as he remembered the fateful Hogmanay ball of his youth. He was aware that the man in the bed wasn't listening, but the silence seemed so sterile that he felt he needed to fill it.

There was no denying that Anthony looked less than healthy. He thought he'd prepared himself; Jethro and Abby's recent concern was enough to trigger worry about his appearance, but even so he had been shocked when he first laid eyes on the young man.

But for now he put aside his concern for the obvious neglect that Anthony had been putting his body through over the past weeks.

His temperature was still rising despite the antibiotics being pumped into his body intravenously, and his blood pressure was continuing to fall.

He'd kept his promise and called Jethro as soon as he'd heard. The man was probably currently breaking all speed limits returning to the hospital.

Ducky dangled his hand into the bowl of water in front of him. He tutted to himself and shook some ice chips into the bowl then swirled the water with his finger to cool the liquid.

Satisfied that the water was cold enough, he leaned forward and removed the damp flannel from Tony's forehead and placed it into the icy water. He let it sit awhile before he squeezed it out with both hands. He replaced the flannel back onto Tony's hot forehead.

Another surgery would only put more pressure on the man's already compromised health, but he had every faith in the competence of the surgeons.

What worried him more was the state of Tony's mental health.

"Oh Anthony, what is going on in that fine young mind of yours?"

**TBC**


	18. Chapter 18

Thanks for all the lovely reviews and messages. I do so love to hear from you all.

Can I also say that I'm so chuffed. I've had close to 51,000 hits so far on this story and that makes me very, very happy!

Once again thanks to **Tiffany331** for her beta skills. xx

* * *

Gibbs hated hospitals at the best of times, but having to sit in a cramped waiting room was not what he would call a fun activity. Hospitals usually meant heartache in his book. Even his daughter's birth, which should have been a happy event, had been overtaken by complete and utter anxiety over the many things he'd heard and read about the perils of childbirth.

Gibbs rubbed his hands over his face. He felt beyond grimy and he desperately needed a shower and change of clothes if the rank smell of body odor wafting up from his shirt was anything to go by. He also needed to sleep but until he knew that DiNozzo was okay there was no way he'd be able to relax.

He'd arrived at the hospital to hear from a hysterical Abby that Tony had already been rushed back into surgery. Abby hadn't left his side since. She clung to him like a frightened child, but to be honest, he didn't mind one bit. Without her head resting against his shoulder and her hands entwined in his he suspected he'd be crawling the walls.

He looked up at the big clock opposite. It seemed that time had slowed to the point that each minute stretched to an eternity.

Gibbs sighed and observed the rest of the team.

Ziva was leaning with her head back and her arms folded next to a hot drinks machine. It served coffee, tea, and hot chocolate, but after sampling its pitiful wares he'd discovered-and it was quite an achievement on behalf of the company-that all three beverages tasted almost identical.

The coffee certainly was like no coffee he'd ever tasted before, and the staff had either come to realize that he was less of a troublemaker if he was supplied with decent coffee or maybe Duck had just had a quiet word. Gibbs didn't much care how the cup of percolated coffee from the doctor's lounge ended up in his hand, just cared that it did.

Ducky was reading a newspaper, his hat sat on one knee as he turned the pages and quietly perused the articles.

McGee had a magazine open but to say that he was actually reading it was a stretch. Gibbs noticed that he hadn't turned the page for over twenty minutes; instead Tim sat staring blankly at the glossy pages, his mind obviously elsewhere. It was strange, out of all of them, excluding Ducky, he'd expected Tim to be the one keeping a clear head but that obviously wasn't the case. He'd heard from an angry Abby that McGee had pretty much refused to go into Tony's room. That surprised him, but then everyone dealt with stress in their own way.

"He's going to be okay isn't he?"

Abby looked up at him. Her mascara had run and she'd eaten most of the dark plum color off her lips as she'd worried them throughout the morning.

"Yup, Tony knows better than to die on my watch, Abs."

Fresh tears welled in her eyes and her bottom lip trembled. Dammit, he should never have said the 'D' word. He'd been trying for light humor but he was just too tired.

Ducky had lifted his head and Gibbs sent a silent plea to the Scot.

"Abigail, I'm sure Anthony will be fine. It is a fairly simple surgery."

"If it is so simple then why is it taking so long?" Ziva suddenly spoke up, her voice tight with emotion.

"Rome wasn't built in a day, my dear." Ducky gently responded.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Ziva shook her head as if exasperated.

Gibbs was about to step in when McGee threw his magazine down on the chair next to where he was sat.

"I need to get some fresh air. Does anyone want some food?" He didn't wait for an answer, instead walking over to where Ziva was clearly working herself up for an argument. "Come on Ziva. Help me pick out some stuff from the canteen for us all."

Gibbs watched her narrow her eyes at Tim as if she were contemplating venting her ire at him before her shoulders eventually relaxed and she nodded.

McGee placed his hand on her back, the closest thing to a hug that she would allow right now, and steered her out the door. Gibbs gave him a silent look of thanks before they disappeared. Last thing they all needed now was more tension added to the already thick air of worry in the room. Abby squeezed his arm tightly.

"I just want to know he's okay Gibbs."

"They'll tell us when they can Abs; now all we can do now is wait."

He was quite proud of the calm words that came out of his mouth, because his brain was actually running through a long list of colorful and downright explicit expletives he'd be using if DiNozzo's doctors made him wait much longer.

* * *

Ziva stared at the line of sandwiches, each wrapped in their own jacket of sterile plastic. Each looked singularly unappetizing, but she grabbed several different varieties and placed them on her tray next to the juice boxes and candy bars she'd already grabbed.

She wasn't remotely hungry and doubted anyone else was either, but she appreciated McGee pulling her away from the waiting room where she'd been on the verge of taking the drinks machine apart punch by punch. At least now she was able to do something more constructive and less likely to get her thrown out of the hospital. She looked at her watch again. They had been gone ten minutes; maybe by the time they returned the others would have had news on Tony.

Inexplicably she felt tears prick at the back of her eyes. No, no, no. She did not cry, she never cried.

Okay, that was a lie; she did cry, but she chose to do so only in private, away from the people who might perceive it as a weakness. She tried to focus on something other than her wounded partner, but the image of Tony lying in the CCU room would not leave her.

She knew that her nose was turning red; she hated the fact that when she cried her face turned an unattractive shade of puce.

She paid for the food and did her best to ignore the look of sympathy the young girl on the till gave her.

"You okay Ziva?" McGee was at her side, but she shrugged off his hand as it landed on her arm.

"I am fine. I think I am allergic to that woman's perfume; it is very cloying," She said as she marched out of the room with McGee hurrying after her.

"Yeah, it was strong. Someone should probably tell her," McGee responded as he caught up.

She felt a deep sense of camaraderie with her colleague. The fact that Tim was going along with her lie and not making a big thing over her tears meant a lot to her.

Two minutes and several corridors later she had regained control of her emotions.

"Thank you McGee."

He nodded and handed her a candy bar.

"You do know that when Tony is awake I'm going to tell him you were crying over him."

She gasped and he gave her a sad smile.

He ducked to one side and away from her fist as she took a swipe at his arm. McGee chuckled as he continued down the corridor.

She clutched onto the sandwiches and followed him. She found herself smiling for the first time in days.

She would willingly suffer the indignity of Tony knowing she had shed tears over him because that would mean he had made it through another surgery.

* * *

Tim had needed to get out of that waiting room. He suspected Ziva had felt the same if her tears in the canteen had been anything to go by. He felt better for getting away but still he dawdled and Ziva was matching his pace as if to put off having to return to that soulless room.

He felt like he was suffocating in there and the fact that Abby was pissed with him for not wanting to sit with Tony hadn't helped. She seemed to see it as a personal slight against Tony, which it wasn't. He'd tried to explain it to her but the right words wouldn't come.

How could he tell her that it wasn't just all the wires and IV lines that had freaked him out?

How could he tell her that it was Tony himself who made him uncomfortable?

He still couldn't get his head around it all. What made someone like DiNozzo break apart in such a spectacular way?

There was no getting around it; Tony had looked like shit and it clearly wasn't just down to the recent surgery he'd had. Seeing him like that had shocked him more than he thought it would. He'd seen Tony look rough before but to know that this time it was pretty much self-inflicted, that wasn't cool. The guy had lost serious weight for a start and that had to be down to him. No excuse for that.

Oh, he'd heard enough by eavesdropping on Ducky and Gibbs; he knew from the odd word or look that passed between the two men that something had happened that he was not privy too. He also had the distinct impression that Ducky and Gibbs weren't the only people who were hiding things from him. Where he could understand why Gibbs wouldn't be talking, he couldn't feel the same about Abby. Why was she being so close-mouthed since she'd come back from Leesburg? She was obviously holding secrets and that worried him, because Abby didn't usually didn't have a problem with sharing her concerns with the world. For her to do so it had to be bad.

They were supposed to be friends; a team. But he had the distinct impression that both Ziva and himself were being kept in the dark like mushrooms and he didn't like it one bit.

As they walked, he plucked up enough courage to ask Ziva what she thought. He was weary about what she'd say after the unpleasant truths she'd landed on him in the diner a week ago but seeing her cry had made him slightly less angry with her. She was just as worried as they all were even if she didn't always show it.

"Do you think that Gibbs and Abby are hiding something from us?"

Ziva answered quickly enough for him to know that she thought so too.

"Maybe it is simply not their story to tell, McGee."

Trust Ziva to be so practical. It was driving him nuts.

"You don't think, I mean … …you don't think Tony…" He wasn't sure he wanted to put it into words.

"What?" Ziva just looked confused.

"That night, when Tony disappeared, Gibbs wanted us to stay with him because he thought that, well, he was worried…and now he's in hospital…."

Ziva raised an eyebrow and looked faintly amused.

"McGee, even Tony would not be so stupid as to stab himself repeatedly in the stomach."

Tim blushed. Okay, he'd give her that one but there was still something going on.

"But you _do_ get the feeling that we're not being told everything?" Tim stared at her.

Ziva nodded slowly. It was a long time before she spoke, so long that he thought they had perhaps reached the end of the conversation, but what she said next made him more worried than he had been.

"Yes, I do think that we are not being told the whole truth. But remember Pandora McGee…sometimes it is more prudent to leave the lid on the box. It might be best we do not know the whole truth because maybe things will never be the same again."

* * *

Tony opened his eyes and shifted slightly.

Recognition hit as the sound of heavily starched sheets rustled around him, and that, coupled with the odd and unique antiseptic smell in the air told him all he needed to know.

Hospital.

Blinking up at the ceiling, he told himself that he wasn't going to be moving for the foreseeable future because he'd just found out that even the smallest movement hurt…a lot.

He tried to process what had happened.

Oh yeah. An angry man mountain and a sharp object had equaled a fucked DiNozzo. Great, just what he needed. As if things hadn't been bad enough as it was.

He looked down to check what damage his tussle with the psycho john from hell had produced. His torso was covered in seeping gauze, so quite a lot it seemed.

He cleared his throat and wished he hadn't. It felt like a boa constrictor had gone to town on his neck but he was a little foggy as to why that would be. He swallowed and winced. His throat was sore and dry, so dry that he started fantasizing about an icy cold raspberry slushy. He moved his head and saw that there was a carafe of water on the table next to him.

Okay, he could do this. He counted to ten and tried to push himself up off the bed.

Bad move.

Biting his lip, he willed the fire in his gut to subside. His mouth filled with a rush of saliva signaling that a rebellion was about to erupt within in his stomach.

Oh, please God, no. He already felt like death but throwing up right now would probably just about finish him off. Damaged stomach muscles and tossing his cookies was an unpleasant party he didn't want to be invited to.

Tony lay as still as he could and tried his best to breathe calmly through the nausea and pain until it eventually eased to a dull roar.

He was beyond thirsty at this point, and the thought of cold liquid soothing his raw throat became an all-consuming torture now that moving was definitely out.

He willed himself to go back to sleep and maybe when he next woke he'd find himself back in his own bed where the mattress and sheets were soft and the pillow didn't crackle when you moved.

Tony shut his eyes then opened them again.

Nope. Still very much in hospital.

There was a steady beep, beep of machinery, so he deduced that he was hooked up to some sort of monitor. He could also hear people walking and talking outside in the corridor, but there was also another sound, something nearer.

A buzz saw?

He frowned and turned to the other side of the room. Gibbs was sitting on a chair next to the bed. His boss' head was slumped forward and his arms were tightly crossed over his chest. The man's legs were propped up on the end of his bed and he was emitting a low frequency snore from deep within.

Okay, how did Gibbs know he was in here?

Tony gave a silent snort. Of course Gibbs knew. He'd probably had Abby put a locator chip in him when she'd visited.

The door opened and a nurse entered.

"It's nice to see those eyes finally open, Mr. DiNozzo. How are you feeling?"

She was whispering, and cast a cautious eye over where Gibbs was sleeping as if he were a hibernating bear she didn't want to wake. So he deduced that Gibbs had to have been there a while for her to acquire that level of fear.

"Felt… better." It surprised him just how much of a serious effort it took to get the two words out.

The nurse frowned at his rasping tones and picked up the carafe of water.

He contemplated telling her he wanted to marry her, but instead he settled for sucking up some blissfully cool water through the straw she'd maneuvered near to his mouth.

"Slowly," she gently ordered, but he ignored her and ignoring the pain each time he swallowed because drinking had suddenly because bliss, he slurped as much as he could before she eventually took the glass away.

"Is your throat sore?"

Was the pope catholic?

Did bears shit in the woods?

He nodded and she retreated from the room. Tony glanced over to Gibbs. Still asleep, that surprised him. Usually the ex-gunny was so aware of his surroundings.

He was still watching the sleeping man when the nurse returned wielding a little green bottle in her hand.

"Open your mouth; this should help anesthetize your throat a little."

He didn't question, just did. She sprayed something into the back of his mouth and he swallowed, wincing as a bitter taste flooded his mouth. He gave a few more tentative swallows and was relieved that it no longer felt like he had razor blades lodged in his throat.

"Thanks." He croaked.

"I'll leave that there. Just spray a little when you feel you need it." She put it on the covers where he could reach it.

She puttered around him, taking his blood pressure and temperature. Even under her gentle ministrations, he found himself holding his breath as the pain in his gut flared with each lift of his arm or tilt of his head

"Are you in pain?"

He nodded again and she explained about the morphine pump that lay on the covers. She pressed the button for him then put it near his hand. He quickly started to feel floaty and swimmy and he didn't care when she started to change the dressings on his stomach, even though he knew it should have hurt like hell as she poked and swabbed.

"Name?" Okay, so he wasn't going to be winning any awards for his conversational skills right now but he was feeling a little fragile.

She smiled at him.

"Simone." She whispered.

"Nice…pretty name." It would have sounded smoother had he not sounded like a pre-pubescent teen whose balls had just dropped.

She smiled, then spoilt what should have been a beautiful moment by saying she was going to check his catheter. Embarrassment was not the emotion he usually felt when a woman wrapped a hand around his manhood, but he blushed to from the roots of the hair on his head to the tips of his toes as she fiddled with the damn tube.

Fabulous, now all he needed was for Gibbs to wake up and he'd be scarred for life.

He wasn't sure if he was relieved or worried that she was still smiling brightly as she tucked the sheets back around him.

"All done." She whispered, as she took another look at Gibbs. "He's been asleep for hours…I'm not surprised. I think this is the first time he's slept for two nights."

He was feeling pretty sleepy himself now. The morphine was really letting its presence be known and he was having trouble keeping his own eyes open, but he had enough brainpower to work out that something was wrong.

Two nights?

He was sure it had been Monday lunchtime when he'd had his little run in.

"What day is it?" he croaked.

"Wednesday. You've been out of it for a while. Dr. Mallard sent everyone else to a hotel to get some rest. You've had a lot of people worrying about you."

Ducky was here?

Huh.

He watched Simone gather her things. She gave him a little wave and shut the door behind herself.

Okay, he'd lost two days. How'd that happen?

He tried to work it out, but as his eyes slid shut his brain also shut down so instead he listened to Gibbs' snores.

The man really did sound like a walrus with a chest infection, but that was fine, a sleeping Gibbs was a much less dangerous animal. He figured he'd be finding out just how dangerous when the man eventually woke up.

**Tbc**

**Speak to me and I will shower you with kisses. xx  
**


	19. Chapter 19

**I do believe drinking my tea out of the NCIS mug that Father Christmas bought me is helping my muse no end! I was obviously a very good girl last year. ;)**

**Thanks to all who have reviewed, mailed and bugged me to continue. Love to all you darlings! xx**

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There was no getting away from it.

It was good to be home.

He'd missed his TV and DVD's more than he realized, especially since he really couldn't do anything other than shuffle from the bed to the bathroom to the couch. He'd missed how his power shower massaged all his back muscles, and his bed was an absolute revelation after weeks of sleeping on the motels pathetic, soggy excuse for a mattress.

Ten days after what Abby had started referring to as 'the corkscrewing of his life,' he was still walking around hunched over like an old man. He was beginning to doubt that he would ever be able to stand up straight again, he'd tried a few times and lived to regret it, but Ducky told him it was normal, his muscles just needed time to heal. So he went with the flow and relished being back amongst his belongings again.

He'd spent four days in hospital lapping up the attentions of the lovely Nurse Simone. Abby was pushing hard for a romance now that she knew Andrea was out of the picture—thanks Abs you didn't have be so obviously pleased that particular relationship had ended—but he hadn't pursued it.

Firstly, he didn't think he needed to jump into another relationship considering where his headspace was, and secondly, because it had been less than fun when the other 'Simone' in his life, Special Agent Dean, had come to visit him.

The two women had at once formed an intense dislike of each other, and all he could do was sit up in bed and watch as his past and future love life collided head on. They each tried to stake a claim but he was too tired to care. It had certainly come as a shock when he found that the thought of the brewing bitch fight didn't remotely turn him on. Maybe he was growing up? Or maybe he was just becoming overly cautious of all women called Simone because they appeared to be too damn feisty.

No, he needed to be able to think clearly and he didn't want any extra distractions. He was currently working on getting his life back to some semblance of normality and women would only complicate that.

Phase two of his plan was to steer clear of all the nasty little habits he'd picked up.

Pretty much the first thing he'd done when he'd arrived home was to throw away the pain meds the hospital had sent him away with, an act that hadn't gone unnoticed by Gibbs. The look he'd got when Gibbs had fished them out of the trash had been a mixture of exasperation and relief. Tony felt relief himself when Gibbs had silently tossed the vial back in the trash without making a big deal of it.

In fact, Gibbs was kind of freaking him out right now. Apart from a major ass kicking for going barreling into a situation with no proper backup and no weapon, his boss had been surprisingly calm and patient with him, keeping things light and definitely not as intense as the last time they'd met at the motel. In fact he was being the exact polar opposite of how Leroy Jethro Gibbs usually was. It was more than a little disconcerting.

Gibbs didn't do calm and he certainly didn't do patient, but there he was, acting like he'd been assimilated into a male version of a 'Stepford Wife,' if the state of cleanliness in his apartment was anything to go by.

In fact, everyone had been treating him like he was made of glass.

They were all being so damn nice around him that he was beginning to think that maybe he had some incurable disease that no one had told him about. It was that level of tiptoeing around him. He had been as grumpy as hell the first few days home because he hurt and was trying to fight the renewed dependence on the pain meds they'd pumped into him at the hospital, but still they treaded softly around him and acted as if he could do no wrong.

They dropped by at an alarming rate and not just in the evenings. It was amazing how often someone was 'just passing' when they were supposed to be at work. He bet Vance just loved that.

So he got into the routine of leaving his door open.

It was easier than struggling to get off the couch each time.

And Gibbs wasn't the only person freaking him out either.

McGee had been all timorous and twitchy around him for some reason. There had been a permanent wide-eyed expression on Tim's face that drove Tony nuts. It made Probie look about twelve. Abby called it his 'slaughtered puppy' look and it was quite apt because McGee did look like he'd just seen a bunch of puppies being killed.

Tony was mystified as to why McGee was so anxious around him until Gibbs took him to one side and explained.

So Tim knew about his little episode with the pills. Thanks Abs.

Suddenly things became depressingly clear; the nervousness was down to McGee thinking he was going to produce a razor blade at any moment and start cutting. He'd had to sit McGee down and try to explain it to him.

Then the tentative questions had started and as much as he didn't want to, he calmly answered Tim's probing questions as best he could and bit back his anger and irritation that every part of his life seemed to be public property now.

As much as he told Tim to relax, the dead puppy look remained, leaving him to wonder if it would ever go. Clearly Tim didn't believe him no matter how many times he told him that it had been a stupid accident, nothing more. But considering he'd goaded someone to shoot him a few weeks ago he wasn't entirely surprised that McGee looked skeptical.

Hell, he wasn't even sure anymore what had been going on in his mind that night. Abby was the only one who seemed to believe him. He wasn't sure if that was due to complete faith in the fact he was telling the truth or rather because it was easier for her to deal with.

McGee had also taken to apologizing for things that really didn't matter anymore, but they had talked and gotten their grievances out in the open.

McGee's face had been an absolute picture when he'd revealed that he'd been offered his own team in Rota, Spain when Gibbs had returned from his retirement in Mexico. McGee had actually looked like he might pass out but instead his mouth had opened and shut like a guppy gasping for air.

Everyone in the navy yard knew that was the plum job. The fast track to greatness.

And he'd turned it down.

Not only had he turned it down, he hadn't crowed about it.

He let McGee into the fact that he was the first person he'd actually told. Tony hoped that it would help McGee understand him a little more. It had to have made him appear less of a grandstanding, arrogant prick in Tim's eyes.

They then moved on to how his put downs and the general leg-pulling made Tim feel like he was incompetent as a field agent in Tony's eyes.

He had nodded and said that was a fair point. Then Tony asked him what his appraisals said about his abilities. It had been fun to watch Tim as he puffed himself up and responded that he had always had great evaluations; he was year after year a solid 'exceeds expectations' as if that proved how wrong Tony was.

Tony had smiled and then dropped the bombshell that it was actually him and not Gibbs that wrote the team appraisals each year. Again McGee looked like he'd been slapped with a wet fish.

C'mon, did he really think Gibbs had time for all that extra paperwork. Did McGeek think the title 'Senior Agent' was purely a vanity grade? Nope, he had to work damn hard dealing with all the shit that filtered down from above, even if it didn't always seem that way to the rest of the team.

It had actually helped to clear the air. They reverted back to how they'd been in the old days. More relaxed with each other and less snippy, and although the scared look didn't leave Probie, it faded as the days went by.

Then there was Ziva.

Ziva was like a woman possessed. Every time he turned around there was another casserole dish in his kitchen. She had morphed into some sort of super charged Rachael Ray, but still had enough of the Mossad assassin in her for him to know better than to skip meals anymore. She seemed to know that when unattended he slipped the food down the garbage disposal, and so had taken to eating her meals with him when she could. He liked that she didn't treat him any differently than she'd always had, except for the feeding thing. The rate she was going he wouldn't be able to fit in his clothes. He could see that there was something going on behind her eyes. She kept looking at the fading scars on his body like she was desperate to know, but she was the only one apart from Gibbs who didn't pry, wasn't constantly asking him how he was and he appreciated that. Maybe one day he'd tell her.

Ducky mainly visited on the way home from work and they chatted over tea, but Tony was aware that most of their conversations had a duel purpose. He wasn't stupid. He got the distant impression that there was an ulterior motive going on and he knew what it was. He was being analyzed; every casual question Ducky asked was carefully aimed, but then he could play that game too; his answers back were just as carefully thought out.

Fornell and Sacks had even stopped by. Fornell had given him a wilting aspidistra that looked like it had been taken straight off someone's desk. Slacks had trailed after his boss and grinned as he handed him a gift. Tony unwrapped a copy of 'One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest'. He hadn't taken the bait even though it was what Sacks had clearly wanted. He'd smiled and calmly thanked the FBI agent. Fornell had looked pissed at the blatant crazy reference, and Tony suspected an ass kicking was on the cards, but to be honest had the shoe been on the other foot he would have probably done the same thing.

Abby was still Abby around him, but she was even more free with her hugs, if that was possible. Whenever she was around she was all over him like a rash, and he had to peel her off and gently move away for fear of suffocation.

And that was a running theme.

Suffocation.

He felt like he was being suffocated under a wave of concern and there was nothing he could do about it, because he really did appreciate the fact that they were there for him even though he'd been an ass-hole to each of them at some point over the past few months.

The one person who really treated him like 'old Tony' was Jimmy, but then the autopsy gremlin had surprised him in the past with his support. Certainly Jimmy had proved to be a good guy to have around, as he'd found out when he'd suddenly found himself with a team to lead. They watched old ball games, and played on the Playstation that Jimmy brought over for him to use whilst he was 'recuperating'.

So he smiled and each day gained a little more control. His humor was returning. He was contrite, apologizing for how he'd been the past months.

Just a mid-life crisis guys.

Hey, most men flipped out with fast cars and young girls, but I've been doing that for years so I had had to find another avenue.

Ignore all the crap with the booze, pills, and rough sex. Just a temporary blip, honestly.

I'm getting there now.

Promise.

Pinky swears all around.

They slowly backed off by the second week at his gentle insistence.

Initially he felt relief, but gradually he found himself missing the company.

* * *

Ducky straightened his bowtie in the mirror. He brushed several stray corgi hairs off his coat and picked up his hat.

He was rather looking forward to this evening. It wasn't often the opportunity to socialize as a group came up. Office get-togethers were mainly reserved for the occasional high day and holiday, as his mother would say, due to the busy nature of their jobs.

Not only was this evening going to be a fun diversion though, it was also a major breakthrough in his eyes and that made it all the more special.

The fact that Anthony had extended the invitation was most encouraging after weeks of clearly tolerating the endless intrusions from each of them, but from a psychological point of view the visits had been most essential for the young man's wellbeing. As he'd explained to Jethro and the team, there was a fine line between giving Anthony space and allowing him to continue to disassociate himself from his life. He needed to regain some sense of normality and if that meant constantly reminding him that he had friends who would not give up on him then so be it.

Ducky was really quite pleased with his progress; he seemed to have come a long way in a relatively short time. Certainly Anthony was almost unrecognizable as the young man who had sat on the couch opposite him all those weeks ago and bleakly admitted to how futile he thought his life had become. That glimpse into the inner workings of Anthony DiNozzo's mind had been harrowing to say the least.

Jethro was desperate to know if his senior field agent would pass the psych evaluation that Director Vance had insisted upon.

As much as Ducky hated to admit it, sadly the answer still had to be no. He only dabbled in the field of psychology, but even he could see that Tony was doing his best to deflect and hide his true feelings again.

There was no doubt that although Anthony had regained some of his equilibrium, there was no way those deep-seated feelings could vanish so quickly. A professional would see that in an instant.

He was not a praying man, but he was hoping for some kind of miracle.

He suspected that he was not the only one, judging by the way Jethro was charging around the office snapping at everyone who crossed his path.

* * *

Tony checked his watch. Unless they'd caught a case then they'd be at the door in ten.

He opened the fridge. The shelves were stocked with beer and cans of Caf-Pow. A bottle of Valpolochella was breathing on the table for those who might prefer. On the stove the pasta sauce was gently simmering: fresh tomato with just the right amount of onion, basil, a few anchovies, and his own secret ingredient - a drop of balsamic vinegar. The linguini was ready to go into the salted water as soon as he was ready. He didn't have a huge repertoire, but he considered himself a competent cook. Long ago he'd discovered that a date was usually most 'appreciative' if you took the time to cook a meal for them. There was also a certain amount of self-preservation in learning to cook; as much as he loved pizza there was only so much takeout you could eat.

He busied himself by chopping up several heirloom tomatoes and adding them to some sliced red onions to accompany the big wooden bowl of green salad.

Why was he so damn nervous?

It was only a meal.

He did a mental run through again.

Bread warming in the oven.

Check

A big hunk of Parmesan sat next to the grater.

Check.

Large tiramisu bought from the deli down the road.

Check.

He took another glance at his watch.

Tony supposed this was a thank-you meal. A token of his appreciation that after all his bullshit they were still speaking to him. But mainly it would be nice to see everyone all together for a change. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of visits by each of them, but he missed the general interaction between everyone as a whole.

Right on cue the door opened.

"Hey DiNozzo, we're here." Gibbs shouted.

"Oh something smells yummy!" Abby came clomping towards the kitchen and threw herself at him, her arms looping around his neck in a death hug.

He smiled as everyone crowded around, sniffing the pot on the stove and talking all at once. Ducky removed his coat and offered to take everyone else's.

"Put them in the spare room." He turned to slide the pasta into the boiling water.

Ziva stole a slice of tomato off the chopping board. She looked impressed at the scene of domesticity going on.

Tony smirked at McGee searching for evidence that the meal was not home cooked.

"Trust me McSkeptical, all cooked by my fair hands," He removed the salad out of Ziva's reach and placed it on the table.

"Thanks for the invite Tony." Jimmy looked pleased to be included.

"Smells good DiNozzo." Gibbs opened the fridge and removed a beer.

"Thanks Boss," He responded.

Abby reached past Gibb's shoulder and grabbed a can. Tony tossed her a glass.

"Indeed it does all smell most appetizing Anthony." As Ducky re-appeared he made straight for the stove and stirred the sauce.

"There's wine on the table if you want Ducky."

"Don't mind if I do." Ducky wandered over to the table and poured a glass. He sniffed before taking a sip. "Ziva, Jimmy, may I pour you a glass?"

"Thank you Dr. Mallard." Jimmy looked like he'd be happy with a beer, but he wanted to impress his boss more.

Tony opened the fridge and handed McGee a cold bottle.

"I didn't know you could cook Tony," McGee said as he unscrewed a beer.

"Great way to get laid Probie." Tony grinned and winked.

"Just don't expect me to put out DiNozzo." Gibbs said dryly from the other side of the room.

"Reserve judgment until you've tasted my pasta sauce Boss." Tony couldn't resist. Ziva gave a snort of amusement then choked on the gulp of wine she'd just taken. Ducky set about thumping her back as everyone laughed.

Tony felt a sense of contentment as calm was restored and Ziva could breathe again.

Yes, this is what he missed.

He herded them towards the table and served dinner. Everyone dug in with gusto, only pausing as the conversation circled round the table. They ate dessert over coffee and brandy and the talk moved onto all the weird and wonderful cases that had outfoxed them in their careers.

Tony nursed a beer throughout the meal and found that he wasn't itching for more, even though, with the exception of Abby who was on a caffeine high that was every bit as funny, most were in on their way to feeling the effects of the alcohol he'd served.

Jimmy had a permanent smile on his face and was openly flirting with Ziva, a dangerous pastime he probably wouldn't have entertained had she not had several glasses of wine.

Gibbs was relaxed enough to regale them with stories of his many ex-wives.

Elf-Lord was trying to get Ducky involved in the 'World of Warcraft' scene and Tony wasn't sure if he was amused or terrified that Ducky seemed interested in the concept.

He was listening to Gibbs tell a story about a monkey and an air vent when Abby leaned over and excused herself. Six large cans of Caf-Pow had to go somewhere. They were all laughing at the conclusion to Gibbs' story when he heard Abby's voice yell from the direction of his bedroom.

_"No, no you can't be serious Tony!"_

He briefly wondered why she'd been in his room, had she'd found the drawer where he kept certain intimate things, or maybe she had picked up on the fact he'd been listening to a Journey CD in there earlier on, but the look on her face when she came storming back into the room made everybody go silent.

He saw what she had in her hand and sighed.

The shit was about to hit the fan.

She waved the letter in the air.

"Is this why you invited us all over…butter us up with a nice meal and then 'bam' tell us that you're not coming back?"

"Abby…" He got up and walked over to her and tried to grab the letter out of her hand.

"No, no. You can't leave us Tony. You.. you can't. I won't let you. We won't let you."

"Abs, please….I…"

He tried to hug her but she pushed him away as the tears started to flow. She was to upset to be comforted.

"Abby..." He tried again but this time she flew at him. Her small fists thumped ineffectually at his chest as she called him every name under the sun.

"Why are you doing this to us? We've done everything Ducky asked and still you're pushing us away. It's not fair…"

She was like a wild thing, a Tasmanian devil high on way too much caffeine as she lashed out with her hands and feet and he tried to hold her. He tried to grab her hands and blanket her with his body to stop the onslaught because he feared in the mood she was in his balls would be the next target.

"Abs!" A voice shouted next to his ears and suddenly Gibbs was carrying off the Goth ball of fury to the other side of the room. He shoved her into Ducky's arms.

"Get her out of here," He instructed, but Ducky was rooted to the spot.

All Tony could do was run a hand through his hair as everybody stared at him.

He bent down and picked up his letter of resignation and stared at it blankly. Words stuck in his throat. It seemed like such a long time ago when he wrote the damn thing.

Everyone started to talk at him at once.

"_Tony you can't…"_

"_Think about what you're doing…"_

He suddenly wished that he'd had a drink.

"Hey, everyone out." Tony was never more grateful as Gibbs took control.

They looked like they were going to argue but Gibbs stood firm.

"Out."

Ziva paused then slammed out of the apartment, almost taking the damn door off its hinges.

Ducky had just sighed looking disappointed and gently pushed a sobbing Abby towards the door.

Jimmy quickly scurried out after.

McGee had grabbed the coats from his spare room and was looking like several puppy dogs and kittens had just been garroted in front of him, great, but he took the time to thank Tony for the meal before he shut the door behind himself.

"You okay?" Gibbs stared hard at him.

Tony nodded and put the offending letter down on the table.

Gibbs picked it back up and read it.

Tony laced his fingers behind his head and gave a deep sigh.

This wasn't going to be pretty.

**TBC**

**R+R is always welcome. :)**


	20. Chapter 20

**I seriously love you guys. You make my day with all your wonderful comments and theories. Love it especially after the week I've had. This chapter was brought to you by vast quantities of codeine and morphine. Stupid bloody pancreas, anyone got one going spare please?**

**Anyway... on to chapter 20. Thanks To Tiff and WWFD!**

* * *

Gibbs read Tony's letter with a sinking feeling in his gut. It was pretty much what he expected: straight to the point, no explanation whatsoever, just a standard format tendering his resignation.

"So, you've made up your mind?"

Gibbs carefully folded the letter and placed it down on the coffee table. He'd been so sure that Tony had dropped this shit about leaving. Okay, so that conclusion had mainly been based on assumption. He'd been trying so hard not to push the issue that he had let Tony take the lead on this one. Maybe that had been wrong.

Tony didn't meet his eye. Instead he walked over to the couch and sat down. The look of defeat was back on Tony's face and it seemed wrong when such a short time ago he'd been relaxed and laughing.

"It's not about what I want anymore, is it?" He said wearily.

Gibbs was confused. Why the hell wouldn't it be about what he wanted?

"Do you want to resign or don't you? That's sounds pretty clear to me."

Tony threw his head back and laughed. The sound was totally without mirth. It was bitter and helpless.

"But it's not that simple anymore… is it Boss?"

Tony sighed and stood up; he moved over to the window and looked out, seeming fascinated by something down there. Gibbs didn't rush him.

Eventually Tony spoke again.

"You know that everybody is standing out on the sidewalk. But I suppose the order to 'get out' didn't actually specify they had to go home."

Gibbs chewed on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from shouting. Dammit, he hated it when Tony did this. Deflecting, changing the subject to distract from what was really going on. Well that wasn't going to work with him.

"DiNozzo, why isn't the decision simple?" He asked.

Tony continued to stare out the window.

"Tony." He stepped forward and firmly repeated the question. "Why. Isn't. It. Simple?"

Tony rested his forehead on the glass and sighed.

"I had a very interesting call from human resources yesterday and I guess it made me rethink my options so to speak, even though I'd pretty much made up my mind to go back… You were right again by the way. I'm a cop through and through. What the hell else can I do? Anyway, HR called and I realized it's not as simple as me deciding to come back. I'm not stupid; I knew I'd have to take a physical and recertify at the gun range before I returned to the field—that's standard procedure—but to hear that Vance is bringing in an outside shrink to evaluate whether I can return in any capacity… Boss, I have to pass before they'll even let me sit behind a fucking desk again."

As Tony talked he grew more and more tense, his back muscles seemed to contract into one tight sheet through his shirt. Gibbs knew right now it was two steps forward and three steps back with DiNozzo, but this particular upset could have been avoided. Damn the Director! All Tony needed was to be given time to get his head on straight, but that was being denied him. Gibbs had the sudden urge to go and shove Vance's head down a lavatory and hold it there until he stopped struggling. He let that violent little scenario play out in his brain until Tony started to talk again.

"Apparently they want to assess if I'm still a good 'fit for the job'…those were the exact words used. So much more diplomatic than 'we think you're totally batshit crazy so we're wanting to part company before you do something that will cause an international incident' don't you think?"

Gibbs walked over to the couch that DiNozzo had just vacated and sat down heavily.

Tony continued to stare out of the window.

"I should have known, really. I mean, Special Agent Dean told me there was talk circulating around the navy yard about me, but I still thought that maybe I could breeze back in, you know, be my usual charming self and a few days I'd be yesterday's news. But when you find out the scuttlebutt has reached the fucking FBI? I mean, if another agency knows I've lost my marbles, then it's only a matter of time before a higher power hears about it. Right?"

Tony turned and trapped him in an intense gaze.

"I'm also guessing that's the real reason for all those cozy little chats with Ducky. You knew about this didn't you?"

Gibbs opened his mouth to explain but Tony shook his head.

"That wasn't an accusation. I get why you didn't tell me. It would have only freaked me out if I'd have known sooner."

Tony turned back to the window.

"They're still out there. Maybe I should take them down some coffee."

Gibbs got up and walked over to where Tony was standing. He looked down and watched the team on the sidewalk. Jimmy was sitting on the curb next to McGee. Abby, Ziva and Ducky were stood huddled in a group. He pulled his cell out and dialed McGee.

"Boss?" McGee answered.

"Go home…all of you." He growled.

Tony motioned for the phone. He reluctantly handed it over, wondering what DiNozzo was going to say.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that sitting on a cold floor will give you piles, McGee?"

Gibbs' mouth twitched in a smile at Tony's warning, as he watched McGee turn and look up. Everyone followed suit. He took the phone back.

"No point in you all getting cold out there. Gonna be here a while, so go home. I'll see you all in the morning." He said firmly and shut the phone, effectively cutting off any arguments from McGee.

They watched the group gradually shuffle off in search of a cab.

Tony pushed himself away from the window and made for the kitchen. Gibbs followed. He leant against the sink as Tony poured two cups of coffee from the percolator.

"Here." Tony handed one over.

Gibbs took a long swallow but Tony just stared at his.

"Tony…"

"Don't, Boss," Tony shook his head. "We both know that I'm not going to pass that evaluation. I might have had a shot with the in-house psychiatrist, but not with someone Vance has handpicked. Let's face it. He's been trying to find an excuse to get rid of me ever since he took over. In fact, I think he hoped I'd quit when he made me agent afloat. But I get that; he's probably shitting himself given my burgeoning record of getting directors killed."

"Hey," Jesus, and he thought he had baggage. "Jenny's death was not your fault. She was working off her own agenda…"

"I was on protection detail …" Tony angrily responded.

"Which she ordered you off—and don't give me any more crap about this Tony. If you had ignored her orders then in all probability both you and Ziva would be dead too. It was not your fault."

"But I knew something was going on and I still bailed. Great show of fortitude, huh?" Tony said bleakly.

Gibbs took another gulp of his coffee. This was going to be a long night.

"Considering the last time Jen dragged you into her games you almost got blown to hell by a CIA agent and had another damn murder rap pinned on you I'm not surprised you backed off. No one blames you. And remember there were two of you on that assignment … And do not say that you were the senior agent so the buck stopped with you, because when has Ziva ever followed orders when she doesn't want to? Trust me; all this has nothing to do about you personally, DiNozzo. Vance has a stick up his ass over agents like us. We're dinosaurs in his book because we think on our feet and put good old-fashioned methods before pointless procedures and ass kissing."

That elicited a smile from Tony at least; for all DiNozzo's charm he didn't play the power game like a lot of agents. He didn't care who he rubbed the wrong way if it meant getting a result.

Tony brought his cup up to his mouth and took a sip before pouring the coffee down the sink. The coffee was extra strong and very much to his taste, but obviously not to DiNozzo's. Tony opened the fridge and took out a soda.

"That may be so, but it still doesn't change the fact that I'm going to fail that psych eval Boss." Tony folded his arms over his chest, the can still in one hand, his head tilted as he responded.

That was a valid point; but though he'd thought that Tony had more time to get his head together and there was nothing he could do to change the situation, that didn't mean they had to roll over and accept it.

Gibbs gulped his coffee and moved over to get a refill.

"Seems like you have two choices here DiNozzo. The first is to give up and let Vance box you into a corner; and the second is to have a little faith in yourself. Take the damn test and see what happens. If you are going to quit anyway then you won't have lost anything."

He could see the cogs whirring around in the younger man's brain. Various emotions flitted across his face starting with despondency and resignation, and then slowly Gibbs saw a spark of fight appear behind the green eyes.

Atta boy DiNozzo.

Tony popped the soda can and drank it down in one, covering a burp with the back of his hand before tossing the empty can in the trash.

"It ain't over until the fat lady sings, huh Boss?"

"Damn straight DiNozzo."

"I suppose I've got nothing to lose. But if I did pass—and I think we have more chance of seeing the pope simulating sex on national TV before that happens—do you really want to continue working with me knowing what a screw up I am? You were quite clear you didn't want me on the team anymore when you took my badge."

Still doubting himself.

DiNozzo suddenly turned around and started to stack dishes as if he didn't want to hear the answer. Gibbs put his cup down. The day he'd suspended Tony seemed so long ago now, a lifetime. So much had happened since.

"Hey, look at me… I took your badge because I was scared shitless that I was going to see you end up on one of Duck's slabs and I wasn't going to stand by and let that happen. Hell, I'd still choose you first over a dozen agents to watch my back, because no matter how fucked up you were you'd _still_ do a better job."

DiNozzo looked bewildered; the doubt was still there. So much so that he was itching to head-slap some sense into the man. But instead he sighed and continued on.

"I'm not sure if you remember as you were pretty hammered the last time I told you this, so I'm gonna say it again…"

He watched Tony wince as he obviously remembered just how drunk he'd been the last time they'd had a heart to heart. That night in the motel had been an eye opener; made him realize just how much he'd taken Tony's smiles for granted, because the shaking hands had been bad enough but the self-loathing was something he never wanted to see again.

"Do you honestly think I would have kept you around this long if I didn't think you were an integral part of the team? I'm not exactly renowned for my patience and although you drive me nuts you also make me very proud DiNozzo, and you know I don't sugar coat shit like this. If I didn't think you were up to the job I'd tell you."

He watched as Tony processed the words, a shy smile slowly playing across his face which made him think that Tony was probably saying 'aw shucks' in his head, but he didn't stop because DiNozzo needed to hear this stuff. Hell, he should have told him it more often.

"You are a damn fine agent, one of the best I've ever worked with, and I really don't want to lose you off the team. Sounds selfish, I know, like I'm making it about what I want. Yeah, I can put my hand up and admit it. We've been working together for a long time and I'm not sure if I can function without you on my six. The last month has been a nightmare. I think I've put several agents on Valium and a number of evidence and archive bunnies have asked to be transferred. Trust me, if you don't come back, I'm going to get my ass fired and then we'll both be looking for new careers."

DiNozzo grinned at that.

"Seriously Tony, I get that you aren't one-hundred percent yet, but anything else we'll work out when you pass the eval."

Maybe if he said that enough it would sink sufficiently into DiNozzo's headspace so that he could actually do it. Use psychology against psychology.

Gibbs finished his coffee in several gulps. He slammed his cup down on the counter top and growled.

"My ex-wives will testify that I don't give flowery declarations of affection often, so if you make me open up and tell you all that shit again I'll kick your ass all the way Canada, DiNozzo."

"Understood Boss." DiNozzo grinned. "Um, so do we hug _now_?"

The head-slap that followed was not unexpected.

Gibbs smiled and shook his head as he looked around the kitchen.

"Now let's get this cleared up. Seriously DiNozzo, how one person can make so much mess I'll never know."

He turned and ran some hot water into the sink. He got busy and started to scrape the plates.

"Thanks Boss."

He smiled again and got the impression that Tony wasn't just thanking him for doing the washing up.

Halfway through the dishes he eventually asked.

"How you doing _really_ Tony?"

Tony stilled as he polished a wine glass.

"I'm good."

Gibbs stared at him.

"No really, I am getting there. Abby helped me to get a little perspective. Yeah, my life may feel like shit at the moment but it's small potatoes compared to some." Tony raised an eyebrow. "Nothing makes you feel quite like a self-absorbed asshole than a bunch of dying kids, huh?"

"Doesn't mean your problems are any less important, DiNozzo."

"Nope, but it made me want to deal with a little more grace." Tony shrugged then smiled brightly. "I just needed a little time I guess."

Gibbs nodded.

But he couldn't help but notice that the smile still didn't quite reach DiNozzo's eyes.

* * *

Tony stretched and yawned. It was late and Gibbs had just left after they'd sat and watched a film in comfortable silence.

Tony made his way into his bedroom and switched on the light.

He stopped dead.

There were little presents dotted around his room, each wrapped in red shiny paper and tied with black ribbon.

Abby.

Okay, mystery solved as to why she'd been in his room.

He gathered up the gifts and sat down on the end of his bed and opened each one.

She'd bought him a Newton's cradle, a scented candle that professed to relieve the stresses and strains of modern living, copies of GQ and Playboy that he'd missed, there was a mix CD, a small cuddly hippo that looked like it had been spawned by Bert but minus the flatulence problem, a biography on Ian Fleming, and lastly a blow up punch bag.

He smiled and sniffed the candle.

Abby. God he loved that girl.

He got up and grabbed his keys.

Sleep could wait a while.

He drove along the quiet streets and stopped outside Abby's apartment. The lights were off but he got out and locked his car.

Outside her door he picked the lock to get in. It was less stalker/rapist creepy than it appeared. The first time he'd sneaked into her apartment in the middle of the night had been after a particularly bad case. He'd really needed to connect with someone after finding a room full of kiddy porn and Abby had been one of the few people who he thought would understand.

After that it had become a game to see whether he could sneak in without waking her up, and Abby loved him doing it. She said it made her feel special and wanted. Why she didn't just give him a spare he didn't know.

He toed his shoes off just inside the door and made his way into her bedroom. He had to stuff his fist into his mouth when he stubbed his toe against her black ash coffee table, not the first time he'd done that either. Fucking thing always seemed to be waiting for him to walk by.

He hopped dawn the hall and peered into her bedroom. The coffin was empty. Good.

Walking as quietly as he could, he then moved on to her spare room, the one with the big comfortable double bed. The coffin was great, she'd explained to him when they first met, but a coffin wasn't exactly the best place really sprawl out in, and definitely not a cool place to get jiggy with someone: too many banged elbows and heads.

He saw an Abby-sized lump under the covers.

"_Tony?_" She muttered and lifted her head.

Damn. Just once he'd manage to sneak in without her waking up.

"Yeah. It's me."

He lifted the covers and settled around her body, she shifted and he wrapped his arms around her.

"I heard you yelp. You bang your foot again?"

"Yup." He smiled into her neck.

"I'm sorry Tony. I wasn't snooping in your room, but you left it out and I couldn't help but read it."

"I know you didn't. Loved the gifts by the way, Bert the Second is great. Thank you." He whispered.

There was silence for a while and he thought she'd fallen back to sleep.

"Are you really leaving?" Her voice was soft and she laced her fingers through his hand.

He hugged her tighter.

Was he?

He really didn't know the answer to that one.

"Go back to sleep Abs."

**TBC**

**Come talk to me. I'm needy. :) **


	21. Chapter 21

**Thank you all once again. I do so love reading all your lovely reviews and messages. Makes me feel purdy special. :)**

**Huge thanks to Tiffany. XX**

* * *

Tony was officially and totally one hundred percent bored. Bored with a capital B.

He'd been kicked out of the warm cocoon of Abby's bed at a ridiculously early hour when the team had been called out on a case, so there wasn't even anyone around he could bug for company. He found he couldn't even focus on a film for longer than ten minutes without fidgeting or thinking about things he didn't want in his head right now.

He reflected that the fact that he was bored was probably a good sign after weeks of complete ennui where he didn't care if he did nothing all day, but feeling like that today, when he was looking for a distraction, didn't help his situation.

No matter what he did, Tony felt antsy even though he was trying his best to relax. His mind kept mocking him; telling him any hope of a diversion was as good as pointless, and the panic over the damn evaluation kept creeping past all the careful barriers he was trying to erect.

It was probably his fault he was in this situation anyway. Maybe if he'd answered just one of Vance's incessant calls or messages then the guy might have backed off, but he'd deliberately ignored him. The way he'd been feeling he would have in all probability ended up telling the director to just fuck off.

Oh well, he couldn't change that now. All he could do was try to prepare himself for tomorrow. He needed to pass that evaluation if he didn't want to be put out to pasture. That meant he not only had to answer the damn questions without giving too much away, he also had to do so without getting twitchy and shaky, something he noticed still happened when he felt stressed or felt he was being pushed.

So he was currently lying sprawled out on his bed listening to Abby's homemade CD. He knew Abs had made it especially for him with a view to lulling him into an orgasmic state of calm and bliss, but to be honest it was having the exact opposite effect on him.

Okay, whale and dolphin song was just annoying. How the hell a cacophony of strange high pitched woops, whistles, and clicks was supposed to soothe anyone he didn't know.

He moved onto the next track Abby had chosen.

The sounds of a gushing waterfall invaded his room. Ten minutes in and instead of an inner calmness all he felt was a desperate needed to pee. He pressed pause on the remote and slumped his way to his bathroom to relieve his aching bladder.

Tony flopped back down on the bed.

The sounds of the Serengeti came next.

He sighed and moved onto the next track.

Gregorian chanting - good God. Not only did he find it totally monotonous, but instead of taking him to Nirvana all it made him think about were monks and enforced chastity. That then brought him onto the fact that he hadn't had sex for over three weeks, and that particular subject was definitely not something he wanted to be thinking about.

Tony skipped forward to the next track with a sense of trepidation. The way things were going he could be faced with the melodic sound of a pneumatic drill or someone having their fingernails pulled out.

Hmmm, the next track Abs had used wasn't too bad actually.

Tony plumped up his pillow and shuffled further down the bed. He crossed one arm over his eyes and let his mind drift as the sounds of the Brazilian rainforest echoed around his bedroom.

The sounds of soft exotic birdsong mixed with the gentle pitter-patter of rain helped him fall into a heavy doze.

Yup, this was working. He was just thinking that there might be something to this weird relaxation stuff when the bedroom filled with the god-awful screech of a howler monkey, making him sit bolt upright in fright with his heart racing.

He puffed out air from his lungs as he tried to calm himself.

Fucking monkey.

So much for relaxing. Not only did he feel like he was having a damn heart attack but he also had the distinct urge to go all Iggy Pop and throw his CD player out the window.

He stomped over and ejected the disk, throwing it carelessly on the side.

Thanks Abs. That stuff may be all the rage with the hemp-wearing, incense-sniffing brigade, but it clearly wasn't working on him.

He checked his watch for what seemed like the millionth time that day.

Twenty-two hours before he had to go in for his psych evaluation and counting.

Tony found himself restlessly pacing around his apartment like a caged animal.

Looking out the window held his attention for all of two minutes.

He made his way into the kitchen, opened the fridge and peered in, then closed it when he realized that he didn't actually want anything in there. He then walked into the den and sat down, only to get back up again and walk back to the fridge.

"I do not want anything to eat," he muttered as he slammed the door shut and made his way once more back into the bedroom. He argued with himself as he went.

Great, he was talking to himself now.

Tony felt like he was going quietly stir crazy. He couldn't help but make comparisons to the scene in American Werewolf in London where David Naughton prowled around Jenny Agutter's apartment whilst preparing to turn lupine for the first time.

Focus! How hard could it be to just freaking well relax?

He checked his watch again.

Twenty-one hours and forty six minutes to go.

Tony picked up a Sinatra CD and put it into the player. He jumped on the bed and laced his fingers behind his head as he settled down to listen to ol' blue eyes croon; might help loosen him up a little.

Apparently not even that was going to work, if his continued restlessness was anything to go by. He rudely stopped Frank halfway through his third song.

Tony pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on his chest as he did a sweep of the room. He spied the magazines Abby had given him the night before and picked them up from the floor. He lay back down and held the copy of Playboy up over his head and started to peruse the pages.

Tony growled.

Forget about the hippy relaxation shit; there was only _one _sure fire way he knew to relieve pent-up stress. And after gazing at the several glossy pages showcasing a perky Texan blond who wore only a Stetson, six inch stilettos, and a smile, Tony suddenly felt a very pressing need to partake in the good old tried and tested method. He slowly licked his bottom lip and slipped his right hand past the waistband of his sweats.

Twenty-five minutes later and he was feeling ready to take on the world, giving him the idea that maybe the only way he was going to be able to take his mind off the eval was to spent the next twenty-one odd hours frantically masturbating like a twelve year old who'd just seen his first real life pair of tits -- thanks step mom number one.

The downside to that plan was he'd probably end up going blind before tomorrow's evaluation. But it sure beat looking in the fridge every five minutes.

* * *

Gibbs was winding down from the day by doing a crossword at his kitchen table.

The case they'd been called out on had turned out to be a non-starter, but that didn't negate the mountain of paperwork that had still needed to be filled in. He suspected that he'd have to sign a form before he'd be able to die the way things were going.

The front door opened and he heard footsteps making their way towards the basement.

"I'm in here Fornell," he called without looking up from the paper.

The FBI agent appeared in the doorway.

"How the hell do you do that?" Fornell grumbled.

Gibbs gave a ghost of a smile and didn't reveal that he'd actually seen the car pull up from the den window before he'd sat down.

He filled in seventeen down. A pretentious official… Panjandrum

"It's late. What can I do for you Tobias?" he asked, looking up over his glasses.

"Just passing Jethro."

Gibbs snorted.

"Coffee in the jug or bourbon in the top cupboard," he stated blandly, not believing for a second that this visit was anything other than planned.

Fornell grabbed the bottle down from the cupboard then hunted around for a glass. He settled on a china mug that sat on the draining board, and poured a shot before pulling out a chair and sitting down opposite.

Gibbs watched as the man made a big show of sipping his drink. He waited for Fornell to get around to revealing the point of this impromptu appearance.

"So how is DiNutso these days?" he eventually asked, nonchalantly.

And there it was.

"He's good. Why?" Gibbs immediately felt defensive for some reason. Fornell had an agenda and he wanted to know why.

"Hmmm, heard on the grapevine that he has to pass a comprehensive psych test tomorrow or he's going to get canned. That's kind of unusual isn't it? Why not put him on extended medical leave if he's flipped."

Gibbs sighed.

"You'd have to ask Director Vance about that. I'll be damned if I know."

"But I can see from your face that you're pissed about it. You think he'll pass?"

"Why the hell are you so interested?" Gibbs growled and leaned forward.

Fornell held his hands up in a defensive pose.

"Hey, just concerned that's all. You know I like DiNutso, Jethro. Damn shame to see him fall by the wayside. Makes you think, there but for the grace of God."

Gibbs relaxed his stance a little.

"Breakdowns and law enforcement kinda go hand in hand Tobias."

"Amen, but DiNutso didn't seem like the type. Too damn confident and self-assured."

Gibbs snorted. It was a pity. Even though that was how everyone perceived Tony, it was so far from the truth as to be laughable. The guy had more neuroses than anyone he knew. He just didn't show them.

"Not sure there is a type."

Gibbs stood and grabbed a clean glass and the bottle from the side. He refreshed Fornell's mug and poured himself a shot.

They drank in silence for a while before Fornell spoke again.

"Do you think he'll climb out of the hole? He still looked pretty shaky last time I saw him."

"He needs more time but yeah, he'll bounce back, getting better each day. It's not going to happen overnight, but he'll get there," Gibbs said simply.

"You really want DiNutso back on the team Jethro?"

Gibbs glared at the FBI agent.

"I mean, do you really think he could he cope with all the shit that would get thrown at him again if he came back. Bouncing back is one thing, but working with a guy you might not be able to trust is another. You want to make sure this is about Tony and not thwarting Vance and his game playing."

Gibbs slammed his cup down on the table.

"DiNozzo is not only a damn good agent Tobias, he's also a friend and I don't want to lose him. If it were solely his decision to leave then I'd have to accept it, but it isn't. What I can't accept is the fact that he's not being given time to heal. That isn't right and hell yeah I'm pissed. Tossing agents like him on the scrapheap because he's human is wrong after all the shit he's been through for the agency. It smacks of politics and that sticks in my craw. Yeah, I don't want Vance to win this one, but I also know my agent. DiNozzo, for all of his easy ways, cares too damn much for his own good and that is never going to change. He lets it all build up until he blows. That's the real reason he left Peoria, and Baltimore. Oh, it may not be on his records but I spoke to a few people and it's a definite cycle with him. So yeah, I know he can bounce back and yeah, it is about not wanting Vance to win. I refuse to just sit back and let the agency chew Tony up and spit him out."

"Uh huh." Fornell nodded. "Well, we're all just toys Jethro, dispensable when our batteries run low. Do you think he'll pass the test?"

"Honestly?" Gibbs stared at the bottle in front of him. "Nope. Not a hope in hell unless the guy Vance has picked out is totally incompetent, which I doubt."

Fornell knocked his drink back and stood up.

"Damn shame. DiNutso may be a cocky little shit but he's also a pretty good guy. Sad to see another one bite the dust. How many is that now we've both lost, yet still us two old bastards cling on. Why is that?"

Gibbs grinned.

"Because we've both been around too long and know where the bodies are buried."

Fornell was still chuckling as he made his way out the front door.

Gibbs sat down and pulled the crossword towards him again.

Four across, the act of plotting. A crafty scheme, a cunning design or plot intended to accomplish some usually evil end.

Machination.

Gibbs filled it in with Vance in the forefront of his mind. The director wouldn't rest until he'd filled the agency with hundreds of identikit computer geeks. Not that there was anything wrong with McGee; he was a good agent and was invaluable when it came to the technical side of things, but in this job you needed street smarts to balance out the book smarts or you'd be totally screwed during an investigation.

He found he couldn't concentrate anymore and gave up after a couple of minutes. Gibbs picked up his phone from the table.

The cell the other end only rang twice before it was answered, giving him the impression that the person on the other end had not been sleeping.

"Hey Boss."

"How ya doing DiNozzo?"

Gibbs settled back down in the chair and listened as Tony started a long monologue about what he thought he should wear in the morning.

* * *

Tony checked his reflection in the cold steel of the elevator. He ran his hands over his hair, straightened his tie and shirt collar, then smoothed down his jacket.

It felt strange to be wearing a suit again after so many weeks of living in jeans and sweats. So what if the suit he wore was a little loose on him, giving him the appearance of a kid wearing his father's clothes? It was the best he could do. And anyway, it was about the image he was trying to project.

Look at me: I'm a fully functioning stable and responsible federal agent.

He tried to walk with his old easy confidence as he made his way through the navy yard. Strut, work it Tony. You can do it. Every step of the way people stopped him; from the security guards to the secretaries, agents to the tech guys. He wasn't sure if that was because they genuinely were pleased to see him or if they just wanted to get the inside gossip so they could rush away to the water cooler. He could just picture it.

_'Hey, did you see DiNozzo this morning?'_

_'Yeah. Boy he looked like crap. Must all be true huh…total wack job.'_

_'Bring on the straight jacket.'_

The elevator pinged and he stepped out onto his floor. He walked as casually as he could towards his team's bullpen ignoring the looks he was getting. He nodded to several people who called out greetings but he didn't stop until he reached his desk. Abby was sat behind it and she jumped up when she saw him.

"Tony!" She launched herself and enveloped him in a hug.

"I only saw you yesterday Abs!" he wheezed and looked at Gibbs in mock exasperation, but he hugged her back equally hard until she finally released him.

"Looking sharp Tony," McGee commented.

Ziva slinked over and ran her fingers over his lapels.

"You look very…"

"Handsome?" he finished for her.

"I was going to say professional."

"But handsome works too right." He grinned as she picked off some invisible lint from his shoulder.

"DiNozzo. With me when you've finished playing grab-ass." Gibbs stood.

Tony stepped away from Ziva and followed Gibbs.

Abby locked on like a cruise missile and planted a kiss onto his cheek before he got two paces.

"Good luck," she whispered.

"Gonna need it," he whispered back. "Gotta go Abs."

Gibbs was already at the elevator and he managed to slip through the doors before they shut.

"You might want to remove the lipstick from your cheek before you go in, DiNozzo." Gibbs said wryly as he hit the emergency break.

Tony looked at his reflection and saw that Abby had left a perfect cupids bow imprint on his face. He rubbed it with his fingers but only succeeded in smearing the crimson slick around his cheek.

Great, now he looked like a transvestite who'd gone overboard with the rouge. Gibbs was smirking at him, obviously thinking along the same lines.

"Gotta take a leak before I go in anyway. I'll get it off then."

The red cheek only enhanced how pale he looked, not surprising considering he hadn't slept a wink the previous night.

"You'll do fine DiNozzo," Gibbs said as if reading his mind.

"Yeah," he said, with more confidence than he really felt. Gibbs saw through that straight away.

"You'll. Do. Fine," Gibbs reiterated.

Tony snorted.

"Yeah, yeah. And if not, then I'll be applying for a private investigator license because there is fuck all else I can do Boss."

"If you don't insist on wearing Hawaiian shirts then I might just join you," Gibbs joked.

"Hey…did you just make a Magnum reference? If so count me impressed."

"Not just a pretty face DiNozzo- and I'd think very hard about the next words to come out your mouth unless you want a slap."

Tony gave his best innocent look.

He appreciated Gibbs adding a little levity before he went in. He checked his watch again.

"I better get going if I want to get this lipstick off." He shoved his hands in his pockets.

Gibbs flicked the switch and they started moving again.

"Which room are you in?"

"Conference 3a."

Gibbs nodded as the doors opened and squeezed his shoulder.

It was an act that meant more than any words could.

Tony straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath.

"Once more unto the breach…" he muttered as he walked down the corridor.

* * *

Gibbs was on his third coffee care of McGee. The cup sat at his feet as he propped himself up against the wall.

He'd been haunting the corridor outside the conference rooms for close to two hours now, and still there was no sign of any movement from inside the room. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign or bad.

He turned the page of the file he was reading, although reviewing a cold case when his mind was on other things was probably not a great idea.

He smiled as the sound of heavy footfalls clumped their way towards him. He looked up to see an anxious Goth and an equally worried medical examiner bearing down on him, followed by McGee and Ziva.

"Any news?" Abby bounced.

"Yup, DiNozzo left a half hour ago, but I discovered I absolutely love standing in the corridor like a dick so I stayed."

Ducky gave a stifled laugh.

"Awww, we all know sarcasm is just your way of saying you care, Gibbs!" Abby said, not remotely abashed by the comment, and gave him a brief hug.

Ziva handed over a fresh coffee whilst McGee took his old one. They were like a well-oiled machine. He had them so well trained.

"Two hours seems like a long time Duck. That a good sign or don't I want to know?" he asked.

Several people walked by and Ducky waited for them to disappear around the corner before answering.

"It's hard to say to be honest. Plus, we do have to factor in just how much young Anthony likes to talk. If he's avoiding certain topics or feeling nervous then I've noticed he begins to ramble a tad. He's probably reciting the whole of the history of cinematography to the poor man as we speak."

"Oh yeah, he totally does that." Abby nodded emphatically. "Once I had to listen as he gave an hour long lecture on Tommy Lee Jones films whilst he paced around his bedroom naked."

Ducky coughed and looked interested, McGee's face looked like thunder, and Ziva looked like she was picturing the scene.

"Do I even want to know why you were in DiNozzo's bedroom whilst he was buck naked Abs?" Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, I was helping him pick out his clothes before a date and he was really, really nervous. She was an Australian underwear model I think." Abby said, as if that explained why Tony had been naked.

Ducky and Ziva chuckled whilst McGee looked relieved at the explanation.

Gibbs smiled and just shook his head. He looked towards the conference room door. It occurred to him that the little committee that had gathered might overwhelm DiNozzo.

"Have you two finished your reports yet?" he questioned.

Both McGee and Ziva looked sheepish. He stared at them with a pointed expression that said 'why not' and they both scuttled off.

Gibbs then turned to Abby. She looked at him with big doe eyes.

"You're going to make me go too aren't you?"

"I think it might be best," he replied honestly.

Abby stared at him for a moment before she nodded sadly.

"Okay, but you'd better give him a hug from me when he comes out!" And she turned on her heels and marched away.

"You don't need to say anything Jethro, I was about to suggest the same thing." Ducky patted Gibbs' arm. "Go easy on him Jethro. Unfortunately I think young Anthony will be feeling more than a little exposed and raw after two hours of having his innermost thoughts analyzed."

The Scott began walking down the corridor; he turned back and gave a wave of his hand.

"I shall be in autopsy should you need me."

Gibbs went back to reading his file. It was another half an hour until the door to conference room 3b opened slightly.

Gibbs closed the file and pushed away from the wall. The sense of tight anticipation was settling in his stomach as he heard murmured voices from within.

DiNozzo eventually came striding out. He watched both men shake hands at the door before the psychiatrist retreated back into the room closing the door behind him.

Ducky was right. DiNozzo looked totally drawn and wiped out. Lines of tension were etched deep on his face. Gibbs could feel the stress radiate out of his body as he passed.

Tony didn't stop; he looked Gibbs' way but carried on down the corridor, long legs striding with a marked determination. Gibbs picked up his coffee and followed. He pushed open the door of the bathroom just as it closed behind Tony.

Gibbs laid the file on the side and checked that all the stalls were empty. He was just about to open his mouth when the door opened and a cleaner wheeled a mop bucket into the room.

Gibbs turned and glared, letting the guy know that now was not the time. DiNozzo added his own look of displeasure. The man got the message and quickly retreated. Gibbs turned back to Tony. He was running cold water into a sink; he splashed his face several times and turned to grab couple of paper towels from the dispenser.

"How'd it go?" Gibbs asked.

Tony wiped his face and screwed up the towels. He tossed them towards the trash. The ball bounced off the edge of the can and fell on the floor.

Tony stared at the bundle of soggy paper.

"Who knows? I did what I could but the guy just kept looking at me like he could see right through me. I guess it's in the lap of the gods, but I'm not holding out much hope Boss."

Tony leant forward on one of the sinks and peered at his reflection in the mirror. Gibbs let him talk; it seemed like he needed to.

"He was an okay guy actually, kinda reminded me of Ducky. Had that quiet, elderly statesman calmness that I don't know how to handle. I would have done better if he'd been a complete pompous asshole. I probably ended up saying too much because he was so damn nice. But hey, can't change anything now right?"

"You probably did better than you think, DiNozzo," Gibbs responded.

Tony turned and snorted.

"Boss, this isn't high school. It's not the fucking SAT's when I made a big show of telling my buddies I'd flunked because you couldn't be a jock and have brains but I actually scored the top 98 percentile."

He sighed and went back to staring at his reflection.

"I tried to deflect, but in the end I well and truly spilt my guts and it wasn't a pretty thing. Trust me, this time I've flunked for real, Boss."

"When will you find out for sure?" Gibbs asked quietly. He wasn't going to make a big deal over this. That was the last thing DiNozzo needed.

"The doc said he has to write the report and then he's going to e-mail it to Vance, so some time late this afternoon or maybe tomorrow he thinks. Can't wait. I bet Vance is practicing his 'don't bang your ass on the door as you leave' speech as we speak."

Gibbs watched the knuckles on Tony's hands turn white as he gripped the sink. He needed to get rid some of the pent-up energy DiNozzo held tight in his muscles, or he suspected that Vance might be getting more than he bargained for. If DiNozzo was going to get canned it would be with dignity. Not by getting dragged out of the yard by security for beating the director to a pulp.

"You got any gym gear here?" he asked.

Tony turned.

"Yeah, I think so…why?"

"I need a sparring partner and McGee and Ziva are busy. Get changed and meet me in ten," Gibbs said casually. He grabbed his file, not leaving DiNozzo with an option to say no. But the look on Tony's face told him that he understood the real reason behind the invitation.

"Thanks." He unfurled his hands from the sink and flexed his fingers. "I guess I could do with a good workout."

An hour later and Gibbs wasn't sure if it had been a wise idea going up against DiNozzo when he was as wired as he was.

Usually they matched each other well in the ring- when DiNozzo wasn't messing around that was - but today he was a powerhouse and damn aggressive with it. It was a side Gibbs didn't usually see unless it was directed towards a suspect but he could understand why Tony was like he was today. It didn't make it any easier though.

What should have been a simple sparring session to iron out the kinks had turned into a full-blown fight. Gibbs was aware that DiNozzo had also been working through a few latent 'boss' issues, going by the weight behind some of the punches, but that was okay too. He figured he owed Tony a few free hits so he'd gone easy.

By the end of the hour-long session Gibbs felt bruised and battered. His lip and left eye were certainly going to look colorful for a while, but Tony seemed to have discharged a lot of his anger so it had been worth it.

They left the ring in silence. Tony sat on one of the hard wooden chairs and wiped his face with a towel. He tossed one to Gibbs who gently patted his split lip.

"Sorry Boss… got a little carried away." Tony winced.

"Only because I went easy on you DiNozzo. You're still recovering from surgery, remember?" Not that you'd have known it the way the younger man lunged and twisted.

Gibbs rested a hand briefly on Tony's shoulder to let him know that there were no hard feelings. He'd actually enjoyed it.

He watched a slow smile spread across Tony's face.

"Going easy huh? Keep telling yourself that Gibbs, if it makes you feel better."

Gibbs snorted.

"Okay, I'll challenge you to a rematch in a couple of weeks and we'll see just how easy I can be then DiNozzo," he said as he made his way towards the locker room to the sound of DiNozzo's laughter.

Gibbs arrived back in the bullpen ahead of Tony.

McGee did a double take when he saw his face.

Gibbs quirked an eyebrow at him in amusement as he sat down. He could see the cogs turning in McGee's brain trying to work out which of the explanations he had in his head were correct as to why his boss was now sporting a black eye and a fat lip

Ziva had a more direct approach.

"What happened?" She stared at his face with a studied fascination.

Gibbs took a swig of his coffee and bit back a growl as the hot liquid met raw flesh.

"Walked into a door," he said simply and started to shuffle papers around his desk.

Wait until they saw the large colorful bruise on DiNozzo's jaw and cheek.

Gibbs figured the incorrect assumption that they'd had a brawl would sweep the agency in a nanosecond.

The elevator pinged and DiNozzo walked into the office. As predicted several agents nudged the person next to them as Tony walked by.

Tony sat behind his desk and started opening his drawers.

"Hey, I left a Hershey bar in here!" he said accusingly.

Both Ziva and McGee were swinging their heads from one side of the pen to the other as they checked out the injuries on the two men's faces.

Tony pulled a half eaten Snickers bar out of the drawer in triumph. He then caught both colleagues eyeballing him.

"What?" Tony questioned as if perplexed. He then made a show of rubbing his jaw. "Oh this…I walked into a door."

Gibbs smiled to himself. They hadn't even rehearsed that, but he could see from the look of amusement on DiNozzo's face that he knew what he was doing much as Gibbs himself had. It was so easy to yank people's chains. Gibbs had to concede, in some ways that they really were way, way too much alike.

Gibbs tried to settle down to do some work, but DiNozzo started to bitch and moan that all his passwords had expired, so he threw over a cold case file for him to read through.

DiNozzo grinned and looked happy.

Soon they were all working, either with heads bent over files or tapping away at keyboards.

Gibbs glanced around the bullpen; the office had a certain synergy again now that Tony was back at his desk.

He looked up to see that Vance was staring down at them, at DiNozzo in particular. There was a smug smile on his face.

Gibbs didn't give him the satisfaction and steadfastly ignored him.

This wasn't over by a long shot. He wouldn't let DiNozzo go without a fight.

* * *

Tony kept checking his watch even though he knew it would do no good. It certainly wouldn't make Dr. Stenhouse complete his report any quicker.

It was close to six when his line rang.

He picked it up.

"Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo," he said automatically.

"Hi Tony. The director would like to see you at six-thirty if that is convenient."

His heart leapt into his mouth.

"Thanks Cynthia," he managed to choke out. He placed the receiver down gently, his hand shaking slightly.

He saw Gibbs' head shoot up when he heard Vance's secretary's name.

"I guess this is it, huh?" Tony tried to smile but Ziva and McGee both looked stricken.

In a short while he'd know for sure and for the first time in many years he'd be officially without a job.

Crap.

Somehow that scared him more than being labeled a burnout.

**TBC**

**Big snogs with a cherry on top for anyone who comes and speaks to me!**


	22. Chapter 22

**_And now...the end is near...and so I face the final curtain!_**

**Sorry this has taken so long, been a busy couple of weeks. **

**So here we are again! Thank you all for sticking with me. You have made this a more pleasurable experience with all your kind support and wonderful comments/reviews.**

**A huge hug and thanks to both Willworkfordean and Tiffany331 for their fine beta skills and can I point out that any mistakes found in this whale of a fic will be down to me 'fiddling' after they've handed the story back to me.**

**Thanks**

**Cheeky AKA Amanda**

**xx**

* * *

The minutes ticked by, and with each second the tension raised a notch. The atmosphere seemed to stagnate around the bullpen as three pairs of eyes steadfastly gazed upwards towards Vance's office.

Gibbs knew there was no way he was going to get any more work done. The minute DiNozzo had left his chair, all his thoughts were focused on what was being said in the director's office. And he could see he wasn't the only one if the deathly silence around him was anything to go by. He didn't try to order Ziva and McGee to get back to what they'd been doing. They were just as invested in the outcome of the meeting as he was and he wasn't that much of a bastard.

Gibbs was out of his seat the moment the outer door to Vance's office opened. He was already halfway up the stairs when DiNozzo slowly walked out onto the mezzanine level.

DiNozzo looked shell-shocked. He watched the man bow his head and rub a hand slowly over his face. The last time he'd seen that look had been the day Kate had died and that was enough to ignite the anger that had been simmering within him all day.

Gibbs crossed DiNozzo's path and pulled open the ante door to Vance's office, causing the door to slam back on its hinges. The director's secretary, Cynthia, looked up and started to open her mouth, but shut it when she saw the look of thunder on his face. His hand was ready to yank open the door to Vance's office when a voice hissed in his ear.

"_Boss!" _

Gibbs felt a vice-like grip on his arm pulling him away from the door. He growled as he turned. Cynthia stood up and looked nervous, one hand hovering over the phone, probably ready to call security. DiNozzo shook his head at her and she removed her hand.

"Get out of my way. I'm not going to let that bastard get away with this," Gibbs said firmly as he struggled.

DiNozzo had him pinned against the wall, but he was too damn wired to be placated.

He pushed back hard but DiNozzo pushed harder. One of Tony's arms was braced tight against his chest and he was putting his full weight behind the move. Even so, Gibbs knew he could have flipped him on his ass if he'd wanted, but the guy had just had his stitches out and, knowing his luck, DiNozzo would split open like a watermelon.

"Jesus, calm down will you," DiNozzo hissed. "As much as I'm flattered that you want to fight my battles for me, this is one you need to step down from Gunny…I passed the evaluation."

"What?"

"I-passed-the-eval," he said, as if speaking to a child.

"But I thought… I saw you looking…" It wasn't often he read a situation wrong.

DiNozzo arched an eyebrow.

"Looking shocked and stunned? But I passed, so you don't need to maim Vance, although I should let you considering the guy's such a dick…."

DiNozzo relinquished his hold and stepped away, his hands up in a mock defensive pose.

"Agent Gibbs… a word please."

The voice behind them made them both jump. Gibbs turned to see that the Director was stood at his now open door with an unreadable expression on his face. Vance glared at the both of them, then turned and walked back into his office.

"I don't suppose there was any possibility he didn't hear any of that?" DiNozzo winced and waved a hand towards the office. "Shit, sorry Boss. Shall I…"

"Who's fighting whose battles now, Tony?" Gibbs said archly as relief suddenly washed over him at the news he wasn't going to lose his senior field agent. He smoothed down his jacket and turned his head to where Vance's secretary was busy trying to look like she wasn't listening to every word. He led Tony outside the room, firmly shutting the door behind them. Vance could wait.

"You sure you're okay DiNozzo? You don't look overly happy, considering."

Tony sighed and leaned against the railing.

"Just feeling a little perplexed, I guess. There was no way I passed that eval and I'm wondering what the hell is happening here." Tony frowned. "Kind of feels like I'm part of some huge practical joke that no one has let me in on yet."

Gibbs nodded. He wasn't going to patronize him, if Tony thought he flunked then he'd flunked. It didn't make sense.

"Do you think Vance is messing with me?" Tony questioned. "Because that's what it feels like."

"Don't know. But I'm going to find out."

"Go easy Boss. Don't want to have to tell the others that you got fired because of me," He pleaded.

"Aw, hell; take more than this to get rid of me, DiNozzo." Gibbs nodded to the lower floor where the whole team was stood looking up at them. Abby was bouncing on her toes as she hugged her stuffed hippo tightly; if it were possible to see the electricity she was giving off then the girl would be lit up and sparking. Ducky, Jimmy, and McGee were obviously doing their best to calm her down.

"You'd better get your ass down there because it looks like Abby is fit to explode."

Tony gave a low chuckle as he glanced down.

"Play nice with the Director, Ahab." DiNozzo warned before he turned and walked down the stairs.

Gibbs watched DiNozzo make his way into the bullpen and get enveloped in an army of hugs and back slaps. The use of the Moby Dick reference wasn't lost on Gibbs. After all, it wasn't the first time DiNozzo had used that analogy on him. The message was clear; don't turn this into another crusade. That was all very well, but he wasn't the one who'd made this thing personal.

He walked past Cynthia and straight into Vance's office.

"I thought you'd be happy with the news, Agent Gibbs. So do you want to tell me about that little display of yours out there?" Vance looked up from his paperwork and sat back in his chair.

"So that's it, is it huh? DiNozzo gets to stay on the team? Just like that, with no conditions, Leon? Just seems too easy to me after all the effort you put in to set DiNozzo up for a fall. So, what do you want Leon? What was this all about? " Gibbs spat out, needing confirmation that this wasn't some screw up and DiNozzo was really on his way out.

"This is not some nefarious blackmail plot, Jethro."

Vance tapped his pen against the blotter on his desk. Gibbs could see DiNozzo's name written on the center of a buff folder sitting on the side of the desk. Vance traced his eyes and picked up the file, sliding it into the top drawer of his desk.

"This was never personal; I just wanted to make sure DiNozzo could continue doing the job he is employed to do. Not an unfair judgment call considering the things I was hearing, but I can't argue with the recommendations of someone who is in the forefront of his field. DiNozzo passed his psych evaluation. So, end of story."

Gibbs tried to see if there was anything going on behind Vance's eyes he needed to know about, but apart from seeing naked disappointment there was nothing. Shit, it must have seriously galled the man to know he'd lost this round. He suppressed a satisfied smile before opening his mouth.

"The thing is Leon, you keep saying that it's nothing personal when it comes to DiNozzo, but what I want to know is who are you trying to kid, me or yourself? Because we both know that isn't true don't we? It's very personal, isn't it? Sending him out to the middle of the damn ocean for months on end was supposed to break him, make him quit, and when that didn't work we both know how hard you made it for me to get him back on the team."

"Are you finished?" Vance interjected as he worried the toothpick he had in his mouth.

Gibbs leaned over the desk and continued with his voice pitched low.

"It's very personal, isn't it Leon? I'm still trying to work out why, but let me tell you this: you certainly would have found yourself looking for a new forensics specialist, M.E and assistant, and the Major Crimes Response Team if you'd fired DiNozzo today. Think on that Director, next time you tell yourself it's not personal."

Gibbs wasn't the one who'd first mentioned blackmail, but it was a useful tool sometimes. He certainly would have thrown his badge at the director if DiNozzo had been pushed out, and he suspected that the others would have followed shortly afterwards. The other alphabet agencies were always trying to poach the team with inflated offers, so it wouldn't be hard to get another job for any of them.

"Will that be all, Agent Gibbs?" The voice was angry but there was no real fire behind it. Vance sounded more like a sulky child who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Yup. I think that is all. Going to take the team out for a meal now, it's been a hell of a few weeks. Sir."

Gibbs smirked and turned on his heels, he even managed to slam the door on his way out, making Cynthia jump in her chair.

* * *

Tony pushed himself on. He was panting and sweating heavily. His old, stretched Ohio state tee was sopping and the salty wetness ran down his face and irritated his eyes. He ran a hand over his brow.

Shit, he was unfit; but it felt good.

He'd missed this.

He'd chosen the hard run through the wood instead of the more sedate circuit of the park. He knew he needed to get his fitness levels up to get back in the field.

He wasn't worried about passing at the firearm eval. He'd always been a pretty good shot when it counted and he had never failed at the target range before. A good aim wasn't something that vanished overnight. But weeks of inactivity and not eating properly had certainly taken its toll on his overall health, not to mention all the alcohol abuse he'd heaped on top of that. And that was without his hip and recent surgery injuries. For the first time in his life he felt every one of his years. He wasn't bouncing back quite as quickly as he used to. His gut was still aching a little but that was normal, the tissue and muscle knitting together. It would take time to heal.

Tony knew he had his work cut out for him, but he had time. He was still out on medical leave and for once he was going to take the full leave. Mainly because he still needed it, but also because there was no way Gibbs would sign him back early this time. Hell, Ducky had only just cleared him for exercise a couple of days ago. Okay, so Duck had said he could start with gentle exercise, but what was the definition of 'gentle' anyway? He chose to stretch the meaning to suit his own regime.

He sprang over a fallen branch and skidded on the mud on the other side of the trail, but righted himself with ease.

Push on.

Only another four miles to go. Just keep ignoring the burn that was buried deep in his lungs, ignore the wheeze in his breath. That damn medieval disease had a lot to answer for, but considering the alternative had been death he supposed he could cope with a pair of slightly fucked lungs.

He reached a steep incline and scrambled up it at the same fast pace he'd set himself even though his calf muscles screamed out in protest. His mind was empty of everything except the next punishing footfall. Mud splattered up his sweats as he skirted a puddle. It was freeing not to have to think about anything, he just let his gaze drift over the passing trees and kept his focus on keeping going.

He made it back to his car just as the schools run ended and the park had started to fill up with young women ready to gently jog in their pristine track suits. They smiled and flicked their ponytails at him as he opened the trunk and grabbed a towel, but apart from returning a friendly smile he ignored them. He may have had the morals of an ally cat when it came to dating but he did have one rule, and that was no married women. His love life was complicated enough without having to factor angry husbands into that equation. He put his hands on his knees and waited for the little gray dots to clear from his vision and his chest to stop heaving before he even thought about driving anywhere.

Using the towel to dry off as best he could, he leaned against the door of his car and watched the fashion show parade in front of him. You could tell the serious runners from the 'Cosmo' brigade without even trying. The serious athletes didn't wear a face full of cosmetics and their track shoes were not pristine white. They wore baggy tees and worn, tight leggings to cut down on friction burns. But then, the wannabe runner never got to a stage even close to where they'd break into a sweat, let alone get an injury. Mustn't let the mascara run darling; but it was a quite a display, high breasts and pert backsides bounced underneath pink velour as they trotted around the track, and he couldn't help but casually stare as he gulped from a bottle of water.

A blond walked past and winked at him as he drained the last of his water. He threw the towel back in the trunk and got behind the wheel. He pulled away, roaring past a sea of SUV's and beamers, and got stuck in traffic ten minutes into his journey; it was always shit this time of day. He sat tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

He eventually pulled into his parking spot and headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Once inside he pulled off his sweat drenched workout gear and headed for the shower. As he let the hot water tease out the kinks and aches, his brain switched back to think mode.

Last night had been a good distraction, steak and stories at an out of the way restaurant that Gibbs had whisked them all off to. Listening to Ducky's amusing tales had been the perfect antidote to the day's stresses. He'd stuck to alcohol free beer, but that didn't bother him. The need to anesthetize was receding as the days went by.

The team was no longer treating him as if he were made of glass and the more they backed off the more he felt himself relax and gain a little more control over his emotions. He'd come to accept that they did actually seem to care. It had taken a long time but the realization that he could pick up the phone if he felt like it and know that they weren't just tolerating him was a good one. Even Gibbs had drummed it into him to call if he needed.

Tony knew he wouldn't, but it was enough to know he could.

As he washed his hair, he idly wondered what the team would say if they knew the full terms of his reinstatement. Although Dr. Stenhouse's had passed him for duty, the sting in the tail had been that the shrink had also stipulated that he must continue to have counseling on a weekly basis and he needed to start on the happy pills. After point-blankly refusing Ducky's recommendation, it was a kick to the ass that he now had to bow down to the shrink's judgment if he wanted to return. Taking anti-depressants would be tantamount to admitting he had a problem, and he'd been very good at sweeping that irritating character trait under the carpet for years.

One thing he knew, just because he'd be prescribed the tablets didn't mean he'd take the damn things.

Tony shut off the shower and grabbed a fresh towel off the rail.

He still didn't know how the hell he'd passed, but the report had been clear. You couldn't get rid of an agent because he was displaying signs of being depressed… if he'd been unstable or psychotic, hell yeah, but not because of on the job stress, and from what he'd read when Vance had tossed the report at him, Dr Stenhouse had made that particular distinction very clear. He may be a fuck-up, but one that was not liable to slaughter his work colleagues or be a danger to members of the public, so everything was hunky-dory.

It was comforting to know that the doc had faith in him not climbing to the top of a clock tower with a loaded M16 anytime soon.

He grabbed a new pair of sweats, dressed, then flopped down on the couch with a soda.

Still. Clock towers and happy pills aside, at least he had a job… that was something.

Without that he realized he had nothing.

* * *

Gibbs was waiting in line at the coffee cart when he saw the unmistakable shape of Fornell weaving his way through the lunchtime throng.

The FBI agent jumped the line and joined him at the front. He had the standard look of a careworn G-man, so no one complained.

"Another social call Tobias? People will start to talk." Gibbs ordered two large black coffees, extra strong, and handed one over.

"What can I say? You have better coffee over here, Jethro." Fornell lifted the lid and added a sugar.

Gibbs walked over to one of the benches that lined the square and sat down. Fornell joined him, wrapping his trench coat around his legs.

"I heard DiNozzo passed that psych eval and you now have one hell of a pissed off Director. Thought you'd be happy about that, yet still you've a face on you like a slapped ass. Well, I guess that is your natural demeanor after all."

Fornell took a sip of his brew and smirked widely.

Gibbs turned his head and looked at Fornell in wonder. It suddenly clicked into place.

"Do I even want to know how you managed that, Tobias?"

Fornell grinned. "Did I forget to mention I play poker with Jack Stenhouse every month? Good guy, known him for more years than I care to mention." Fornell took the lid off his coffee and casually blew into the steam. "Diane hated him, mind you, tried to ban him from the house. Said he reminded her of another doctor who told long drawn out stories. You wouldn't happen to know who she was talking about would you?" He chuckled.

"Why the hell didn't you say anything?" Gibbs shook his head.

"Two reasons, the first being I needed to know if you really wanted DiNutso back on the team, and the second was Jack said he'd only do so much. He wouldn't pass DiNutso if he thought there were major psychological problems there, friendship or no friendship. I didn't want to get your hopes up Jethro."

Gibbs nodded. That actually set his mind at ease somewhat. Wouldn't have expected anything less, certainly had respect for the man not to just hand out freebees when it came to something serious as someone's health.

"I don't know what to say, Tobias. So how'd he do really?" He couldn't help but ask.

"DiNutso would have failed with any other shrink, but Jack tweaked the parameters a little. DiNutso's apparently got some unresolved issues that need to be worked out, but your boy made a good impression actually. Jack liked him a lot. The whole patient client confidentiality crap came into play so he didn't say much to me except to say that he thinks both parents should have been shot at dawn. Know anything about that?"

Gibbs took a long gulp of his coffee. The more Fornell talked, the more he liked this shrink, and the more he wished that DiNozzo had had a different childhood.

"Let's just say that there is a very good reason DiNozzo acts like an overgrown Labrador puppy, eager for any attention he can get." Gibbs left it at that.

"Figures." Fornell looked like he was thinking about his own daughter.

They both sat in silence and watched the people go by.

"Why'd you do it Tobias?" Gibbs eventually asked.

"Hey, figured I still owed DiNutso for tossing him out of the car in that body bag, and for arresting him for being a potential serial killer. Plus, call it self-preservation; I knew that you'd be even more of a bastard without DiNutso around to absorb your bad moods." Fornell grinned again.

"Thanks, I owe you," Gibbs said gruffly.

"Nope, I think we're even now Jethro." Fornell said darkly.

Gibbs frowned, and then remembered. Damn, yet another murder rap on an innocent man. Life as a fed was a prison sentence waiting to happen, it seemed.

"I think we've got to the stage where it's 'you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours,' haven't we Jethro? Can't let the fuckers on the hill win the game."

Fornell got up and tossed his cup in the trash.

"See you around, maybe you'd like to join us in a game of poker one night."

He gave a slight wave as he walked away, leaving Gibbs sat on the bench to finish his coffee.

Yup, a game of poker would be on the cards. Maybe he would take Duck along and the two doctors could have a competition as to who could tell the longest story.

He'd put good money on Dr Mallard winning that particular slam down.

* * *

**Six months later…..**

**

* * *

  
**

Dublin was a beautiful place, even when it rained. The pavements seemed to shimmer under the barrage of droplets. It was certainly the only place she'd ever been where it could be raining on one side of the street and be dry on the other.

She hadn't regretted the move at all, not for one minute. It was such a difference pace of life and she loved it. She'd spend her evenings strolling through the streets soaking up the atmosphere, and she wasted many hours just watching the river Liffey wind its way through the city.

It was a totally new life and she'd needed that. She'd needed to get away from all the old memories.

Her Uncle had an export business here and she loved the work. It felt great to feel useful again. Felt great to be her own person, earning her own money.

She sat and watched the rain run down the glass of the teashop she frequented every lunchtime. She just couldn't get enough of the fruited Tea Bread smothered in thick creamy Irish butter they served here. The young waitress didn't even ask for her order now. Instead, the minute she walked in the door she was led to a table already laid with a pot of tea and a large plate of the glorious bread. She guessed she was a regular now. She loved the staff and laughed and gossiped with them all.

She winced halfway through her second slice and ran a hand over her stomach. She felt another strong kick and smiled.

She was getting big. After months of only sporting a tiny bump suddenly she felt like she had an elephant growing in there and she still had a couple of months to go. It was a shock as it hadn't been that way with her other children. Then again, she was much older this time round.

Andrea ran her hand protectively over the bump again.

She wasn't one hundred percent sure who the father was, she'd been in a bad place back then and the men and the dates were a little too close to call, but in her gut she knew.

Most of the men she'd picked up had tended to use protection. Most were salesmen, seasoned prowlers who knew the drill when it came to cheating on their wives. It wouldn't do to take a social disease back to the homestead.

Only one man she'd been with had been repeatedly cavalier in that regard.

Tony had usually been too bombed out of his skull or too drunk to care about using a condom. Sometimes he'd paused long enough to sheath up, but it depended on how far gone he'd been and more often than not it wasn't thought about.

Not that she blamed him. The man had been in an equally bad place then, a place where an unplanned pregnancy wouldn't have even registered, let alone been worried about.

Nope, she was pretty sure in her mind whose baby it was; it wasn't just a case of wishful thinking. But she'd know for certain once the little one was born. The Special Agent had had some pretty distinctive features and character traits, the long legs, wide smile, and green eyes, and it wouldn't be hard to see in a few months even without the confirmation of a paternity test.

She couldn't help but think that the whole situation had a certain amount of serendipity.

Without him, she'd probably still be on a course of self-destruction, still picking up strange men in bars. He'd set her on the road to recovery in more ways than one.

And while she knew the new baby would never replace her lost children, could never make that pain go away, it did give her a future when she previously hadn't seen one.

She did find herself missing him, but theirs hadn't been that kind of a relationship and it was true what he said, it would never have worked in the long run between them.

How could you move forward in a relationship that had been so fucked up from the start? She could just imagine having the new neighbors over for dinner and the conversation moving towards the polite topic of how you'd first met.

_'Well, we were staying at this shit-hole motel whilst we both went through our respective breakdowns. I was picking up strangers in bars after my ex-husband killed our two children, and Tony here used to let me beat the crap out of him during sex. Of course he was popping pills like candy back then and spent his days pretty much drunk as a skunk, but you know we knew instantly it was true love….'_

Andrea didn't feel guilty for not telling Tony.

Somehow she felt he would understand.

* * *

Tony threw his bag down in the hall and tossed his keys on the side.

He walked into the den and unclipped his gun, slamming it down on the table, then shrugged his jacket off and dumped it down on the floor in disgust.

Yet another suit ruined.

Somehow he thought that crawling around in a rank sewer for hours, knee deep in shit, wasn't something Giorgio Armani ever envisioned for his suits. Certainly he'd noticed that the staff at the drycleaners he frequented seemed to hide when he walked through the door now, scared of what evils he might be bringing. He figured that by now they had him pegged either as a Fed or a crazed serial killer with a sense of style. Blood, vomit, bile; he'd presented it all, but his main nail in his coffin at the cleaners had probably been to admit that the white sludge on the legs of his Hugo Boss suit had in fact been adipose tissue and not goose fat…that might also explain why all the staff seemed to flee when they saw him coming now.

He toed off his shoes and stripped off the rest of his stinking clothes and added them to the pile on the floor.

Tony walked buck naked through to the kitchen and rooted around until he found his black trash sacks, snapping one off the roll he walked back into the hall. He stuffed the sack with his clothes and knotted the plastic sack tightly. He'd deal with it at a later date. Now all he wanted was to get under a hot shower and then do nothing more strenuous than uncapping a beer.

He stood in the bathroom with his hand under the showerhead. The water remained infuriatingly cold. He cursed and shut the water off with a growl then slammed his hand against the side of the medicine cabinet.

Great, his boiler was out again. Piece of crap always seemed to go on the fritz when he needed it most – like when he'd been crawling in a sewer for hours looking for a fucking murder weapon. He contemplated calling Gibbs or one of the team to beg for a hot shower but thought better of it. Everyone was fried; it had been a long day and they'd probably not welcome the intrusion.

He cursed and set the water running again and stepped under the freezing stream. There was nothing like a nice cold shower to wash away the stench of the sewer. He was shivering and beyond cranky by the time he'd finished sluicing himself down. Grabbing a sweater and a pair of sweats, he quickly dressed and pulled on a pair of socks over the two slabs of ice that used to be his feet.

Opening the fridge, he pulled out a beer and slung the cap in the sink. The bottle was half empty by the time he'd made his way to the couch.

He flopped down with a sigh.

He leaned forward and picked up his gun. Feeling the comfortable weight of it in his hand.

He drained the rest of the beer.

He sighed again and gently laid the gun back down on the table ready for when he left for the navy yard in the morning.

He'd go to work and smile like everything was fine.

Like everything was normal.

He'd ball up paper and throw it at McGee and see how many times he could call him 'Probie' in a day.

He'd flirt outrageously with Ziva until she threatened to maim him.

He'd piss Gibbs off by playing Tetris while he should be working.

He'd listen to Ducky's rambling stories and smile in all the right places.

And he'd go and accept a hug from Abby because that's what she did.

It would be just like the day before, and the day before that. The only things that would change were his inappropriate jokes and the different crime scenes.

Everybody moved forward. Everybody evolved... except him.

It was like his freak out had never happened. The DiNozzo holding pattern was back in place and he was his usual juvenile self again. They could cope with that and he didn't judge them for it. Mental issues made people uncomfortable so it was easier to act like they didn't exist. The team were all so damn relieved that he was back to normal and he could understand why.

But the real shit kicker here was this _was_ normal for him, they just didn't know it.

You couldn't just throw off the dark feelings of a lifetime in a few weeks, months. They were always there. Always ready to rear their head when you least expected.

Only one person took the time these days to look a little harder to try and see what was going on under the surface, those steely blue eyes bore holes into him but he was back to deflecting like a pro.

Kevin Spacey said it best in 'The Usual Suspects.'

_"The greatest trick the devil pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist."_

That was his favorite movie quote.

He liked to work on the same premise.

_**The End**_

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_**Ack, so...that's it. The end...no more!**_

_**Tell me what you think, how did you enjoy my little rollercoaster ride? **_

_**Please talk/review as this will be the last time we get to chat for a while! ....**__**Come out all you silent lurkers! ....I know you are out there!! I've had near to an astounding 70,000 hits already on this story but yet only 643 reviews....you do the math! .....Um...unless that figure is only down to a couple of you really, really liking this story and you've have been reading it several thousand of times a day! ;)**_


	23. Thank you

**Hi**

**I feel I must take the time out to thank each and every one of you for the overwhelming response I've had to this story. Your support has been absolutely phenomenal and has totally blown me away. **

**I must admit that several of you actually made me tear up with your wonderful comments/messages concerning the end chapter. **

**You've all made me feel very proud of this little tale and I must admit that the monstrous stroking of my ego has given me a rather swelled head. **

**But seriously, I know some people who don't understand would think that Fan Fic writing was a waste of time and a totally puerile exercise but through this story I've 'met' some wonderful new friends and discovered some fabulously talented authors too. Got to love the internet!**

**And finally I thought I might get lynched for how I ended the story but you've all been so supportive and I certainly haven't felt any rocks being aimed at my head yet...so thank you. You chaps are clearly an intelligent lot who understand that sadly in life not everything comes up roses no matter how much we may want it too.**

**Thanks** **again**

**Amanda AKA Cheeky**

**xx**

**P.S My muse is awash with plot bunnies so I hope to 'see' you all again soon.**


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